In the end
by twisted-coil
Summary: Clarisse and Joe the story that wasn't in the movies. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter One

With an assured twist of his hand, Joseph waved away the attendants in the hallway. As he did so, he turned to the Queen, amused, as ever, at the soft exhale of breath that always accompanied his dismissal of the staff. Neither of them were naïve enough to believe that they had escaped suspicion, but it was good not to be watched for a change.

Reaching down, Joseph gently clasped her gloved hand in his, surprising her perhaps a little with the swiftness of his gesture. Bringing it to his lips, he brushed her fingers with a kiss.

"You look wonderful tonight, you know?"

She smiled, her eyes twinkling, capturing his, "Thank you"

"Would you like some cocoa, or shall we take a walk in the garden? I believe that it is all ours now…"

As they turned right and walked down the now-deserted corridor, Joe dropped her hand and placed his own at the nape of her neck. Swooping down gently over her bared shoulders, he caressed her back as they walked.

"As tempting as a walk sounds, my dear," she said, in a low voice, "I am rather exhausted. Would you mind terribly?"

Turning to look at him, she was intrigued by the curl of his lips,

"Not if we can be exhausted together…"

Trying to suppress a laugh, the Queen attempted a shocked expression…and failed miserably. They had arrived at the door to her suite and as she eased herself from Joe's warm embrace, and backed slowly into the room, she nodded, "Granted – now go and fetch me some cocoa, I want to change out of this meringue"

With a slickness that never failed to amaze her, he kissed her softly on the forehead, and then departed before she'd even drawn breath.

Sitting at her dressing table, Clarisse took off her jewellery. Placing the earrings carefully in their box with the necklace, she smiled, daydreaming of the evening that she had received them, all those years ago.

Well, seven to be precise. It had been the night of the Annual Pear Gathering Dinner, and she had, as usual, been fussing about what to wear. Rupert had disappeared into the library with a large brandy and a cigar, leaving her, and her poor maids to be indecisive. Finally she had settled upon a simple pale blue silk gown and, having dismissed the maids (how she hated their bustle and preening fingers, even if she knew they meant well!) she was fixing her hair. Her gaze fell upon the jewel case on the bedside table. Rupert. As always, he had selected the jewels for her to wear and placed them where she would find them. Perhaps in the hands of someone else this gesture would have been romantic. But she knew better. It was one of his ways, one of the stupid, and yet insistent ways of controlling her. It was rare that they agreed in their choice. And yet she would wear them. It struck her with a certain irony – the very symbol he saw as marking her as his possession reminded her of the huge crack that was spreading through their marriage.

With a sad, rueful smile, she opened the case. Her breath caught in her throat as she was struck by the beautiful simplicity of the tiny diamond pendant and matching studs. They were perfect. And yet she was confused – this was so unlike Rupert – never had he bought anything so simple, so, well, un-regal, and so perfectly beautiful. Could it be that he had finally listened to her for once?

She had worn the jewels that night and looked enchanting. But Rupert hadn't said a word. As he waltzed her round the ballroom he had held her stiffly and with a formality that was cold, even for him. Not that she expected love, nor even lust, but a sense of friendship would have been comforting. As the music ended, she murmured her apologies to Rupert and left the ballroom for the balcony, to look out over the garden. She had been standing there for a good few minutes, lost in her thoughts, before she heard the footsteps behind her.

"Please Rupert, not now…" she whispered, half to herself, half to the figure that approached.

"Your majesty?" his words were soft, but deliberate.

"Joseph?" again, she was almost whispering. " I'm sorry, I didn't expect it to be you. How long have you been…?" her words trailed off, as she realised the implications of where that question was going.

"Long enough."

She smiled sadly at his words, the wider meaning obvious to them both. She leant back against the cool stone of the balcony, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing. Joseph always had this effect on her. It was strange, around him she relaxed more than at any other time, and yet it was close to him that she so painfully felt her formal duty.

He noticed her smile, just as he noticed everything about her, and stepped forward, out of the shadows. He wanted so much to take her in his arms and hold her, to show her the gentleness and unconditional love that she had been deprived of for so long. But of course he did not.

"Are you enjoying the party, your Majesty?", his voice was careful, measured, not wanting to ask too much.

"You have been watching the whole event, Joseph, what would you say?"

"I would say not"

"And you would be correct."

"And so you are out here?" He watched her gentle peeling her gloves off and laying them carefully on the balcony beside her. It was with a preoccupied air that she replied:

"And so I am, once again, out here…"

"Is here so very bad?" He was serious now, and as she looked up, she could see that in his eyes. They were dark and intense, eyes to get lost in, and yet there was nothing that unsettled her. She held his gaze, relaxing under it, a rare privilege indeed, and answered softly, "Not at all."


	2. Chapter Two

They had stood there for some time, in a comfortable silence, lost in their thoughts, when Joseph noticed that a silvery teardrop was working slowly down Clarisse's cheek. She was turned away from him now, looking out over the garden, and the moonlight caught the only sign that betrayed her otherwise controlled persona.

"Clarisse?" her name caught in his throat, the huskiness of his voice giving away his concern. Her hands were distractedly running up and down the balustrade, desperately trying to retain her composure. She struggled to keep her voice steady.

"It's alright Joseph. Thank you. I am alright… I just need a moment."

He paused, considering for a moment, and then, with a soft sigh turned to leave. He had moved little more than two paces towards the room when he felt a delicate hand on his left upper arm.

"Please don't leave me here…" Her voice was small, and yet resolute. Even reduced to this she possessed the bearing of a queen. He turned to face her, to look in her eyes once more. And for a moment he saw panic, realisation at what she has asked of him:

"I….I'm sorry, Joseph. I have no right to ask. I don't know what…what's come over me this evening. First the jewels, then the dancing, and now this. I'm sorry, I…" she broke off, realising that she was babbling. She stepped away from him, releasing his arm.

"So you liked them then?" There was a playful tone in his voice, but his thoughts were serious. Maybe it was time.

"I don't understand? Did I like what?"

"The necklace and the earrings. I thought, I mean…I hoped that you would. " Now it was his turn to feel cornered. He knew that he had overstepped the mark, the line that they had taken so much care to construct. But it had been worth the risk. As she had stepped down the stairs to dinner she had looked radiant, happy even, much better than he had observed of late.

"It was you?" She didn't know what to think, let alone what to say. Fingering the necklace self-consciously, she struggled to process his meaning. It was funny, now it all seemed so obvious. Of course it hadn't been Rupert. But that it had been Joseph? Had she really not considered that? Of course she had, but she had not allowed herself to believe it. And yet now, standing before him, wearing his necklace, looking into his eyes she realised the truth she had hidden from for so long. He loved her.

"I…I'm sorry Joseph…I, um" she stumbled over her words, desperately trying to calm her racing heart and think of something rational, something sensible to say.

Joseph noticed her confusion, her difficulty at negotiating a situation that couldn't be played by the book. This time it was he who drew closer to her.

"First of all, please stop apologising." His tone was calm and measured, but not severe. "You have nothing to apologise for, least of all to me." He slowly reached down and took her hand in his. "And as for having no right, again, I'm afraid orders, protocol and rights do not come into this." He stroked her fingers, trying to soothe away in this tiny gesture the turmoil she was clearly experiencing. "If we are to talk of rights, I am afraid, my dear, that it is I who have no right. No right at all to stand here alone with you, no right to look at you like this, and no right whatsoever to even think you will listen to me."

He swallowed, she could ask him to leave. She could sidestep this situation once again, as she did whenever their hands accidentally touched, when she caught him watching her, when she…the list was endless. There had always been 'more'. But now it was time to tell her.

"But I have to say this now, God help me I never intended to, but I can't see you like this, so beaten, so bruised, without trying to help. You're unhappy Clarisse, and it's tearing me apart to see you like this."

Clarisse dipped her head, as more tears threatened to fall. Seeing this, he gently took her chin in his free hand and tilted her face up to his. "It's okay to cry, you know. You need somewhere safe, where you can let it all out. You might be able to carry a country's official engagements on your shoulders, but you cannot carry this unhappiness without breaking down occasionally." She nodded at this, understanding his words, attempting a small smile. At this his own face softened, warmed, as always, by her. He released her face and his own dropped, "I know that I have no right, Clarisse…"

She silenced him by placing her thumb on his lips, slowly tracing the contours, her palm cupping his chin.

"I don't think that it is necessary to speak of rights when I am already yours, Joseph, do you?"

Closing the box with a click Clarisse smiled to herself. It had been so very difficult that evening, and yet so entirely simple. Just as she had realised the immensity of the truth about her feelings for Joseph, she had realised how it might just work. There had been tears in her eyes as she had spoken those words. He had taken both of her hands in his, brought them to his lips and kissed them softly. "No more talk of possessions" he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

They had stood there for many minutes, just holding each other. He gently stroked her back, soothing her, her face pressed into him. There had been no need for words.

After what seemed like nothing more than a second, the music in the ballroom stopped. She tensed in his arms. Understanding, he dropped a chaste kiss to her forehead, held her cheeks in his warm palms and whispered, "You should go"

She nodded, and took a deep breath. His hands slid down her shoulders to her own, stroking her fingers, entwining them with his.

"When can I see you, Joseph?" she too was whispering now,

Looking deep into her blue eyes, "You can always see me – I'm always here Clarisse."

She smiled, but continued, "You know that's not what I meant…"

He sighed, "I know…but I will see you. I promise. You will never get rid of me, my dear" She shook her head ruefully, and in a gently teasing voice whispered in his ear, "And I wouldn't have it any other way…"

They had pulled apart then. She had left first, moving through the study back out into the ballroom, gaining confidence with each step. He had broken down all her walls, and yet she was stronger than ever. He had followed, disappearing down a corridor, vanishing into the labyrinth of the palace. That night she had found a single red rose on her pillow. This time there had been no doubt as to who had placed it there.

As she changed into a slip, Clarisse thought back to how she had felt all those years ago. She had had no idea of the pain she would suffer, the tragic heartache of Philippe, and then the trials of ruling alone. A soft (and completely unnecessary!) knock on the door brought her back to the present. Reflected in her mirror, she watched him enter the room, placing two mugs of cocoa on the table. He hadn't seen her yet. She smiled as he placed a white rose on her pillow, smoothing down the sheet as he did. He wandered into her dressing room, and caught her watching him. As he snaked his strong arms around her waist, and kissed her neck, she couldn't take her eyes from the mirror. She had never been truly alone. There had always been him. She turned into his arms, looking into his dark eyes, which hadn't changed a bit since the first time, and, smiling, kissed him on the lips. "What took you so long, mister butler…?"


	3. Chapter Three

Joe smiled, returning her kiss, murmuring against her lips, "Well if you will make these outlandish requests for late-night cocoa when the kitchen staff have all gone home…It took me quite a while to track down the jar in question."

"Second cupboard on the left, first shelf up from the bottom, on the right." She teased, rubbing her hands casually up and down his arms.

"You're unbearable, you know?" he retorted playful, feigning mock irritation.

"I know", she replied, as smugly as she could, a huge grin spreading across her face. She raised her hands and started to unravel his tie.

The look of concentration on her face, as she carefully eased the tie pin from the delicate silk was so adorable that Joseph couldn't help but wrap his arms around her, stroking his hand through her hair.

"Hey…just let me…" he kissed her forehead, then her eyebrows, "…let me take this…", her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, "…out. There." She leant down to place it on the table, smiling up at him coyly. "I thought we were going to drink cocoa and be exhausted?"

"Indeed we were…so…Madam?" He raised an eyebrow provocatively. Issuing a challenge.

He reached out and wrapped his arms tightly around her, and as she relaxed into him, dropping light kisses on her forehead, "Ready?", he whispered into her ear.

"For what?"

"Bed." With that, he bent slightly and swooped her up into his arms, stepped out of her dressing room, strode across the bedroom and softly deposited her on the bed. Patting her on the head, he passed her a mug of now slightly lukewarm cocoa, "Your Majesty…"

Desperately trying not to laugh so as not to spill the drink, Clarisse put on her most stern face. "And about time too…one really _cannot_ get the staff these days!"

With a wink and a smile Joseph stood and walked in the direction of the bathroom. "I won't be long, my dear…unless you wish to join me, that is?", he added with a cheeky grin.

For that he was rewarded with a throaty "Don't you just wish", as she leaned back into the soft pillows.

Shaking his head, still laughing, he went for a shower.

A/N OK, ok, I know that this is obscenely short – sorry – but I just wanted to get something up quickly to thank you guys for all the lovely reviews!! :o) Am very busy at the moment, but will try my very best to update by the end of the week. The next chapter will be Joe's thoughts in the shower (get your minds out of the gutter!!), reminiscing about another event in his and Clarisse's shared history.


	4. Chapter Four

a/n Hello All! Thanks for sticking with this. Apologies for not having got this up sooner… I'm currently working on an important conference paper and finding time when I'm not busy with that and still in the mood to write is proving difficult! Cogs are now back in gear though, and hope to update again tomorrow…the idea is already sorted in my head. Just need to extract it… ouch.

Still shaking his head, Joe entered the bathroom. Pushing the door to, he worked his shirt out of his trousers and undid the buttons. Throwing it over the chair, he reached into the quite literally palatial shower and turned the taps. Stepping back to avoid the spray he stripped off the rest of his clothes and grabbed a towel. The water was hot and strangely relaxing as it gushed forcefully over his head and shoulders. He'd been tense all day, Mia's little disappearing act hadn't helped, and it was good to feel the strain slipping away.

As he turned to face the spray, rubbing his face, his mind was cast back to that morning. He'd been sitting in his office, plans of the palace spread out over the large map table that he'd specifically had made for the purpose. The ball arrangements were all in place, the guest list finalised and the staff duties allocated. It only remained for him to co-ordinate the security of the two royals. He always left this until last – it only required an hour or so, and he would work with Clarisse. It was funny really, they had always done it together, ever since he had undertaken the responsibility. He liked to involve her, to show her clearly that her evening would be safe and that she could relax and enjoy whatever function it was they were attending; she felt that her input was important, especially since, in the event of an emergency, time for explanations would be at a premium. Both, he smiled to himself, enjoyed the opportunity, given the sensitive nature of the matter, which of course required the door to be shut and bolted, to be totally alone with each other.

That morning, they had scheduled to meet at ten, to work on the plans, and then to take morning tea. At ten past ten she swept into the room, glasses perched on her nose, arms waving,

"Joseph, my dear, I'm so terribly sorry." Her face was flushed a little, and he suspected that she might have been scuttling down the corridors when the guards weren't looking. He smiled at the image. He should probably tell her about the cameras that mapped every square inch of the palace but decided this wasn't the time.

A little out of breath, she continued:

"That stupid, stupid, infuriating man…" exasperated, she went on, "I was speaking to the French ambassador on the telephone, and he just wouldn't be dissuaded from outlining the entire portfolio of French foreign policy statements issued this year." She had placed one hand on her hip and with the other rubbed the bridge of her nose, clearly still caught up in the moment. " I mean, it's not as if I haven't already read and been briefed on their contents by my own staff." She began to pace now, not even looking at him, half talking to herself, "Really, these officials who believe they can advance their career by bending my ear for an hour do tire me…I mean…"

Joseph bit back a smile and got up from his desk. Moving swiftly across the room, he gently pushed the door to and, as discreetly as possible, clicked the lock shut. Clarisse was still muttering to herself when she felt his hands on her shoulders.

"Hey, easy there tiger, getting worked up about it won't calm you down." he breathed down her neck. She sighed as he massaged her shoulders, leaning back against him.

"I am sorry, my dear, it's just that these little things really…"

"I know." His tone was comforting, understanding and, well, firm. She relaxed gradually under his touch. "And what's all this about ear-bending?" he murmured, slipping an arm possessively around her waist, as he dropped little kisses on her right ear and cheek, "personally I've found it very effective in achieving my objectives…"

"And what would they be?" she whispered, turning in his arms to face him.

"Still stressed?" looking at her seriously,

"Nope", she smiled back,

"Well then…"

"Honestly… you're amazing."

"I know."

She slipped her arms round his back and snuggled into his chest. After a moment or two, he pulled away, "Ready to get started on the plans?"

They had been concentrating for about half an hour when he noticed that she was gazing out of the window. She was totally lost in thought. He knew the signs well, and decided to let her daydream. She got so few moments to herself, and these occasions were now so rare, especially with Mia bouncing all over the place, that he couldn't resist. Watching Clarisse was his own personal hobby. She was quite simply fascinating. He had heard it said by many that the closer one gets to the object of your desires, the less they shine, but with Clarisse this was simply not the case. She broke the mould. Her eyes flitted shut for a second, and a broad smile spread across her face. As she opened them, she turned to look at him, unsurprised by now to find him gazing back at her.

"Anywhere nice?" he asked.

"Hmm?" she smiled again, casually stroking his hand, "I'm afraid you lost me for a moment there…"

"Indeed. Everything ok?"

"Perfect. I was remembering our first secret conversation. In the car."

"In the car…hmm…the car…now, which car might that have been, can't say I remember having any important conversations in cars?" he teased, catching her hand tightly before she thumped him, "Oh, you mean that car…?"

She smiled, looking up at him, "That was the beginning, wasn't it? I mean, after the dinner, that was the first time we were alone." It wasn't meant to be a question, more of a statement. "When you held me that night of the dinner my marriage ended, but that journey, later, that was when we began." As she looked deep into his eyes, she saw the same strength she had seen that first time, and she stroked his face.

The phone rang, startling them both. Joseph answered.

"Yes?" Smiling at Clarisse, 'Charlotte', he mouthed. "Really…no, she must have forgotten. I'll tell her. Yes, okay. Thanks."

"What have I forgotten?" she questioned, irritated a little by the lost moment, slipping off her glasses and rubbing her temples.

"Nothing you'll want to remember, I fear. That crazy Italian has arrived to slobber over you again…"

"Oh dear." She shook her head, clearly trying to shift the image from her mind. She stood up and stretched out her back. "Well, my darling, I'm afraid I must go and make myself beautiful for this evening. If I leave him waiting any longer, I fear he might start mixing up some pink hair dye or something horrific…" she said with a long sigh.

"Oh, I don't know, might suit you", he teased, "Just make sure he does your eyebrows as well, otherwise it'll look strange."

"Joseph…" she chided, with mock indignation.

"Yes, your Majesty?" he replied, with an angelic smile.

"À ce soir…" with which she blew him a kiss, and waltzed out to do battle with the infamous Paolo.

As he returned back to the plans on his desk, he sighed. It was funny, her thoughtful mood had rubbed off on him, and he found himself reminiscing on what she had described. He sat and, taking a sip of his now lukewarm tea, leant back into the comfortable leather seat. It was beautiful outside now, and a slight breeze was playing with the leaves on the trees…but that night in question the weather had been quite different…


	5. Chapter Five

A/n – Okay, now, a few wee things. First off, I'm not sure when Joe becomes Head of Security, so I've assumed he already is. It just works better this way. Also, I know that Spain doesn't officially have a monarchy, but I hope you won't mind a little creative license. I mean, there are those who would claim that Genovia doesn't exist… :o)

That night it had been bitterly cold and the rain had been lashing at the windows. He had been all in favour of postponing the journey to the Spanish coronation ceremony until the following morning, but that would hardly have left enough time. Both the King and Queen's presence were customarily required at such events, and the coronation of the new Crown Prince of Spain was no exception. Usually they would have flown together on the private jet, but King Rupert had changed his mind at the last moment. His head was bothering him, and he had decided that the change in cabin pressure during the ascent and descent would not help. Not to mention the weather. Although it wouldn't have been impossible to take off, with winds this strong Joe couldn't help but wonder how long they would have had to wait for clearance.

It was after eight-thirty, and he was briefing the other security staff on procedure for the nine-hour drive ahead of them.

"Right, now I apologise for the short-notice of this evening, but I'm afraid that can't be helped. We will be taking five cars, with the standard police escort in front and at the rear. I will ride with the King and Queen, in the first car, Martin, you will accompany the Prince in the second, and Lionel, Andrew and Simon, you will follow behind with Charlotte and the two Spanish diplomats. The route has already been mapped, and the authorities have been alerted."

Martin yawned, clearly not impressed at losing his Friday night off. Joe continued,

"I am not expecting any problems, but this weather will mean that the drive will be slow. Please remain vigilant and in constant radio contact. Any questions? … Right, you have twenty minutes to collect your things before we leave. Everyone out front by five to nine."

As Joe wandered back towards the main hall, he was surprised to hear raised voices from the library. Unmistakably, the King was in a foul mood,

"Look, if you don't want to come, don't. No one is forcing you."

"I'm sorry, father, it's not that I meant to arrange things this way. But I have promised.

"For all that counts!"

"It does. She means a lot to me. I'm sorry that you fail to see that. I…"

"Look, just stay… your mother and I will make your excuses for you. Just go, I'm really not in the mood for this now, Philippe."

Joe waited, undecided whether he should enter yet and tell the King that the cars were ready. Philippe was moving around the room, probably tidying up whatever he had been doing, maybe he could step in now, casually, without it looking…

"Joseph?" her voice startled him. He'd been so concentrated on the conversation in the library that he had not heard her approach. He smiled nervously. She smiled back.

"I think the appropriate expression, Joseph, is 'busted'"

"Busted, your Majesty?" he replied innocently, "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"Hmm…" was her only reply, eyebrow raised. His eyes scanned hers, looking for that something, something more. It was there, that knowledge of what they had shared exactly two weeks ago at the dinner, on the balcony. Not now, not here, he told himself. He smiled again, mentally caressing her cheek with his hand, running his thumb over her lips.

"I think you can go in now, _my dear_" she whispered that last part, and for a moment he doubted that she had said at all. Turning to glance back at her as he moved towards the door though, her smile told him what he longed to know.

"Sir, the cars are ready…"

"So Prince Philippe is not coming then Joe?"

"No Martin, so it looks as you've got your weekend back."

"Nice one – great. It's the wife's birthday and she was gonna be seriously pissed if I missed it. Thanks man, I really owe you one."

Joe patted the young man on the back, and watched him scamper back up towards the palace, trying not to get too soaked. He was a nice lad, simple, but honest and he would make a good guard one day. He sighed, getting into the now empty second limo, shaking his umbrella as he did. As he closed the door and relaxed back into the plush leather, he smiled at his clever planning. With one less royal, and a spare car, the situation had become a whole lot safer and easier to manage. Lionel would ride in the spare front seat of the first car, with the King and Queen, and this second limo could act both as a decoy or a spare. It was textbook, and for the first time that day, Joe felt relaxed. The other staff could deal with the loading of the cars, he could just sit back and wait until they arrived in Madrid.

After about twenty minutes, he began to get a little impatient. The schedule was pretty tight, and he was just about to open the door to investigate, when he heard voices approaching…

"No, Charlotte, if you don't mind, I would really rather travel alone. Honestly, I'm really rather tired and I will most probably sleep the entire time. Hardly the most entertaining company, my dear!" Her voice was surprisingly clear, given the rain, and he heard each word precisely. But he couldn't help but be confused.

"Well, if you're sure, your Majesty?"

"Yes, I am, Charlotte, but thank you all the same. Now, if I take the umbrella, could you get the door?"

He held his breath as the door opened. Like the true lady she was, she sat first, and then swung both her legs into the car. She handed the umbrella back to Charlotte, uttered a swift "Have a pleasant trip", closed the door and, throwing her head back, her eyes closed, she sighed deeply.

She hadn't noticed him, and he didn't want to scare her. She brought her hands up to her face and covered her eyes and forehead, gently massaging her temples. Her breathing was rather ragged, he noticed, and she was obviously tense.

"Oh God, why do I let him get to me so much?" she shook her head, as she whispered the words to herself, completely unaware of her audience, "He really is nothing, it is nothing but duty, nothing but perceived obligation…nothing."

Joe's heart felt like it had stopped. He suddenly felt cold all over, his throat tight. Later he would be angry, but now all he could feel was hurt. Nervously, he coughed, terrified at what this outburst might mean, but having to know all the same. She started, her head snapping round to look at the intruder.

"I'm sorry your Majesty, I think there has been some kind of mistake, I…I was meant to be…" he stuttered, unable to control his tongue.

She looked at him then, straight, unwavering, and he saw the pain in her eyes, the tears threatening to fall, "Joseph…?" She tried to smile, and the tears cascaded down her cheeks. She swallowed, twisting round to face him, trying to regain her composure. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she reached out, to cup his cheek in her gloved hand. Although his mind was in turmoil, he couldn't move, accepting her touch, bending into it in spite of himself, savouring the cool silk on his skin.

She bent slightly towards him, whispering, "I'm so glad you're here…"

Her voice brought him back to his senses, he must stop drowning in this sweet torment, "But…I'm sorry, I…what you said, I can't…"

Her eyes searched his face, confused, hurt, recoiling desperately. She was so fragile beneath that hard exterior. Tears formed again, and his heart began to break.

Suddenly her eyes filled with panic, realising his meaning, as she reached out to him, "Oh God, no, Joseph no, never you…never you" Her hand grasped desperately at his shoulder, as she brought the other up to stroke his face, fixing his eyes with her own. Her words were barely audible now, "Never you"

He couldn't trust his voice to speak, and so he simply placed his hand over hers, drawing a breath he didn't realised he had been holding. Wrapping his other arm around her, he pulled her closer, until their foreheads were touching. "Never you", she whispered, turning her face to kiss his hand now cupping her cheek.

"I'm sorry, I should never have doubted you" he whispered into her hair, "I never will again. I promise." He took her face in his hands, and stroked away the tears with his thumbs. "You'll never have to…"

As he brought his lips down to hers he realised that this was the moment, from here there would be no going back. He loved this woman, more than he valued anything. It was his job take a bullet for her, but now he would gladly give his life at her most casual request. He would even walk away from her, if that was what she wanted. At first their kiss was gentle, cautious even, he wrapped her in his arms, stroking her back, running a hand through her hair, deepening it a little. They relaxed into each other, enjoying the warmth of intimacy so long denied to both. When they broke apart, she looked up into his eyes, serious, yet relaxed, and asked,

"How long, Joseph… I need to know?"

"Eight years ago, March 16th, about four o'clock. My…"

"…your first day. I remember." Her fingers found his, and intertwined them with hers.

"And you?" he asked cautiously, still not quite believing,

"Same day, about five o'clock, when you managed to drop your brand-new, state-of-the-art earpiece into the fountain. Very professional!" She giggled to herself at the memory. "Of course, it took me a lot longer to realise, to admit to myself…"

They had both relaxed a bit now, comfortable in each other's embrace. Kissing her gently on the lips, caressing them, Joe whispered, teasingly, "So, your Majesty, any particular reason you decided to steal my ride?"

He felt her tense slightly, and instantly regretted the question. Moving back an inch, he looked at her, coaxing her on,

"Well, my dear, it is my husband we have to thank for this particular seating arrangement." She shook her head a little, clearly trying to organise the most diplomatic way to phrase this. "He is in rather a foul mood and finds me, quite frankly, irritating…before…it..it was Rupert to whom I was referring."

He couldn't help but feel a slight surge of resentment against his monarch. That man had no idea how to treat her, no concept of kindness or warmth. Yes, he was a good ruler, yes, he was fair, but he was not loving.

"I am sorry, Clarisse" he pulled her close once more, needing to feel her against him, "I can't imagine how…" She wrapped her arms around him, snuggling into his chest, not needing any answers, simply soothed by his warmth.

Joe shifted in the huge leather chair in his office, his back beginning to twinge. They had stayed like that for most of the journey, he thought, with a wry smile, just holding each other. She had been exhausted, and had slept in his arms for a couple of hours, waking shortly after they crossed the border. As they had travelled down through the mountains she had asked him about his childhood, his family, his interests, looking up occasionally to smile at him or stroke his face.

She had been right (as always, he added, with a smile), that had been the first time they had been truly alone. In those precious moments they had realised not only the depth of their love for each other, but devised the ways in which they might meet. The secret moments, the stolen kisses, the private meetings. They had all stemmed from this one journey. He yawned, suddenly sleepy. In need of caffeine, he wandered out of the office and down in the direction of the kitchen, just in time to hear Charlotte and Paolo arguing about the various merits of the Brazilian. Charlotte, it would seem, was vehemently against it, declaring the results to be 'like a plucked chicken', whilst Paolo, as ever, seemed all in favour of this new hairstyle. Whatever it was it sounded painful, he mused, shaking his head as he passed, hoping that Mia might fill him in later on the finer details…and that Clarisse was not now sporting a haircut that resembled a Mohican.

A/n OK, I'm going to take a few days off now, to actually write the evil paper and celebrate New Year. Am aiming for the next chapter (which will switch back to Clarisse) by the end of next week. Thanks for all your reviews – I've found it so encouraging! Enjoy the festivities, /tc/


	6. Chapter Six

A/n Here we go, next piece for your collective delectation. I've got the second part of this episode all planned out, so should get something up by Tuesday at the latest. Hope you're not all tooooo hung-over!

Dousing his face for the last time in the refreshing spray, Joe carefully replaced the shower gel he had 'borrowed' in exactly the same position that he'd found it. It wasn't as if she would mind him using it, but she would definitely object if it had been moved from 'its' place. He shook his head, half to flick the water from his eyes, half in amusement at Clarisse's little obsessions. Reaching for the towel, he dried himself off, then, slipping on one of the plain black robes hanging by the door padded back through to the main bedroom.

As he had half expected, the room was darkened, lit only by the small ornate bedside table lamp, and Clarisse was curled up beneath the covers. She was sleeping on her side, one arm bent under her head, the other stretched out slightly across the pillow. She looked surprisingly small under the heavy counterpane. He crept closer, and gently taking the book from her outstretched hand, kissed her on the forehead. She stirred slightly as he slipped her reading glasses off, and murmured his name, but as he drew the blanket up around her shoulders, it was clear to him that she would soon be sleeping soundly.

She was exhausted and, as usual, had done too much. If he knew her, she had probably been up since six, planning her engagements and organising the ball, and then she had spent the best part of the morning working with him or being hassled by various diplomats. He knew she would have missed lunch, never eating, as she did, when she was busy or nervous. And then she would have spent all afternoon preparing and all evening circulating. As amazing as her stamina was, she had to rest sometime.

Joe, on the other hand, invigorated by his shower, didn't feel much like sleeping. Used to often staying up all night as part of his surveillance duties, he had learnt to snatch sleep in short bursts, often dropping from exhaustion, rather than relaxation. Looking down at the book now in his hands he smirked, 'Pride and Prejudice', typical. She had been on at him to read some Austen for a while, quite why he wasn't sure, but he knew that this was one of her favourites. Generally he preferred something a bit darker, a classic detective fiction, or a good Gothic novel, but maybe he'd give this one a shot. He moved over to the fireplace where, he noticed approvingly, a good fire was burning. Being San Francisco, it wasn't exactly cold this time of the year, but he was most definitely a sucker for big log fires and he was, after all, rather underdressed. Relaxing back into the armchair, he opened the first page…"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." He smiled to himself, thinking of a fifteen-year-old Clarisse reading this for the first time…this was going to be interesting.

As Joe settled down to his night of high literature, Clarisse's mind was also active. Drifting in and out of sleep, her own thoughts were wandering, backwards and forwards…dancing with Joseph, his hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her round the room with a tenderness that made her heart sigh…Amelia, looking every inch the princess in her white gown and tiara…her own first ball, when she had worn it for the first time…that other dinner, much later, when she had worn it with Joseph's necklace, and he had held her hand for the first time…that first afternoon she had met Amelia, and given her the locket of her own….The diary…Philippe…that terrible night… that night she had cried in Joseph's arms, how he held her all night…her pride at Amelia's speech…Joseph's smile, the pride also in his eyes, always Joseph. She was calming now, gradually slipping deeper into sleep, no longer thinking, but dreaming, the images becoming more organized, more real. Her mind relaxing, as her subconscious floated back, replayed the past….

It was March, several months after their state visit to Spain, and three weeks before they were due to depart for Paris. Rupert had been extremely busy with the program of reforms for parliament recently, and, more worryingly, had been dogged with ill health. It was with concern then, that Clarisse watched him eat breakfast. It was just the two of them dining that morning, since Philippe was attending a summit in Berlin.

"Not hungry, my dear?" she asked, noting, once again, his apparent lack of interest in the plate of bacon and eggs before him.

He looked up at her from his paper, and then down again at the plate, "Well observed. No. I can eat later." His words were not unkind, but his patience was thin these days, and she knew better than to continue. She changed tack,

"I thought I might look into getting some new artwork hung in my suite. I have to admit, I'm rather tired of the present ones. What do you think?

"Hmm? Sorry dear, what did you say?", he looked up again, obviously distracted, "What paintings?"

"The ones in my suite. I'd like a change. I was wondering if you wanted any input?" Suddenly it all sounded rather hollow to her. What exactly _was_ she asking for? Permission? Hardly.

"Not today. Does it require me in any case? I'm due in parliament in 40 minutes, could you not organize it yourself?" It was less a question than a statement. He went back to the paper. She went back to peeling her orange.

They sat like that for some time in silence. It was not exactly unpleasant, not even awkward, but that was just it, it was nothing. Apart from that which etiquette dictated, they existed entirely independent of each other.

A polite cough from the doorway pulled her from her introspection. Joseph.

"Your Majesty, your car is ready." Just for a moment, Clarisse took the liberty of watching Joseph 'at work'. As always, he was respectful, and yet dignified. Nothing about his person could be criticized, and yet, he was most definitely not a servant. There was a grace in his bearing, a charisma, almost, that set him apart. She wondered for a moment why it was him who came to bring the message, but, after checking that Rupert's gaze was not on them, she caught him winking at her and understood perfectly. He was here just because.

"Thank you Joseph." Rupert folded up his paper, and drinking the last of his coffee, stood from the table.

"Ah, Joseph?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

"The Queen would like some new paintings for her suite commissioned. Could you do something about that? The old ones will need to be stored somewhere secure, several are very rare, they must go in the vaults…"

For a moment, Joseph was thrown, and raised his eyes to Clarisse, questioningly. He knew that she wasn't particularly fond of modern art, at least not in preference to something more antique, and for a moment he was confused by the request. Then he understood.

"Of course, your Majesty. And, if I could be so bold as to suggest…"

"Yes, go ahead Joseph", he replied impatiently,

"If it is a change of scene that her Majesty requires, perhaps she might like to look round the vaults where we keep the royal collection? There are over 1,000 pieces down there and…"

"Yes, yes, whatever…will you get someone to show her round, Joseph? It's pretty confusing down there, don't want her getting lost or breaking anything"

"I _am_ still here, my dear", Clarisse chuckled, slightly nervously.

He didn't dare look at Clarisse, focusing his attention solely on the King, "Of course, your Majesty, that can be arranged. Indeed, I myself am free today, and would be more than happy to accompany you both." His voice was calm and measured, trying desperately to mask his emotion.

"No, go ahead without me. I will be in town until late tonight. Not really that interested – awfully dusty down there." He was distracted, not really concentrating. "Choose what you want Clarisse, all looks the same to me." Tossing his paper onto the seat, he moved in the direction of the door. She stood too, accepting his half-hearted smile and "Enjoy your day dear…" more force of habit than anything, and he was gone.

For a moment, they both stood there, looking at each other, not quite sure what to say. Then he rubbed his chin and shook his head, trying not to laugh with sheer relief.

"Did that really just happen!?" Now she was smiling too, in spite of herself. Finally she found her voice too,

"Yes, my love, I believe it just did"

"And?"

"Just how dusty _is_ it down there? Should I change?"

Now he couldn't help but laugh openly at the innocence of her question. With an impressively straight face, and a mock sincerity that would have put a politician to shame, he replied,

"Well yes, your Majesty, it is very, very dusty down there. We Genovian security guards make it our speciality to deter infamous art thieves from our treasures by encasing them in four inches of weapons-grade dust…" He was cut off by her cuffing him round the ear with the newspaper,

"Joseph, you fiend, I almost believed you there…" She could hardly contain her laughter now. As she went to hit him again, he caught her wrist in his hand. She dropped the rolled newspaper, and looked into his eyes. As if in slow motion, he ran his fingers from her wrist, along her palm, and down to her own fingers. As he broke their touch he softly whispered "Cameras", and stepped backwards.

She swiftly recomposed herself, and nodded. "I have to clear my appointments. Twenty minutes, my office?"

He smiled, "I'll be there"


	7. Chapter Seven

a/n OK, well this episode has turned out so much longer than I'd planned, so I've decided to post half now and will get the rest up towards the end of the week! Bit annoyed about that, since I think the best bits will be in the later one, but never mind. Figured you'd all like this now ;o) Thanks again for all the lovely reviews – they've made such a difference to the whole thing! And, just a note, things aren't always going to be so sugary between our fave couple, I promise! I just thought setting them off with a nice start would be more realistic…Enjoy! /tc/

As she tidied up the papers on her desk, Clarisse was surprised to find her hands were shaking. Three months, two weeks and a day since they had both admitted the truth, and yet she was still as nervous as a teenager. Well worse, she thought ruefully, she didn't even have the excuse of being sixteen. Would it really always be like this? With such intensity, such anticipation? Would her heart always leap a little when he walked into a room? She scolded herself as her mind began to wander, thinking dangerous thoughts, her and Joseph, older, together, sitting by the fire, holding hands… She closed her eyes, willing the image away, and yet longing for it to remain, but she could not, must not allow that thought, not now. But never?

Opening her eyes, obsessively straightening out another pile of papers, her gaze fell to her hands. The ring on her left hand. Her mind was cast back to what Joseph had said, those weeks ago in the car, the words that he repeated with such sincerity. He had taken her hand in his and, gently stroking the ring on her finger, nearly broken her heart with his simple gesture. 'Your marriage to Rupert is what it is. You are deceiving no one, Clarisse, it is what it is. I will never compromise you, I promise I will try never to hurt you. And, unless you ask me, I will never leave you. It is what it is.'

And he had been right, he _was_ right. This was not some sordid adulterous affair, a cheap thrill, a moment of instant gratification, just as her marriage had never been the foundation for the love of neither her life, nor Rupert's. Neither relationship could be expressed that simply, nor could they cancel each other out. They were what they were.

Taking off her glasses, she sat back in her chair. She sipped her tea, now lukewarm, and replaced the cup with a shaky clink of china meeting china. Taking a deep breath she tried to relax.

The knock at the door was so soft that she would not have heard it had she not been waiting for him.

"Yes?" Her voice was steadier now at least, "Come in"

But he didn't. Instead, he just pushed the door open with a flourish and waited for her in the corridor. "So, are you coming?" She smiled in spite of herself. He knew she was nervous. And now, with his flippancy he was trying to put her at ease. She got up and walked towards him, "Lead the way…"

They wandered down the long corridors and staircases in silence, neither wanting particularly to draw attention to themselves. As they neared the main security control point, Joseph asked her to wait a moment, adding, in a low voice, "There's just something I have to deal with."

He was only a minute, and then they continued downwards. From the ground floor of the castle, they took the elevator down to the vaults. As the grill closed shut, and he turned the key, she felt the faintest pressure of his hand on the small of her back, almost not there, and yet unmistakable. She leant into him slightly, looking up at him, meeting his smile with hers.

As the car came to a halt, he removed the key, placing it in his pocket, and opened the cage. They both stepped out into the darkness. Turning on the emergency lights, the corridor was bathed in a strange blue glow.

"It's ok, there are proper lights in each of the individual vaults", he whispered, sensing her momentary concern as she turned back to look at the elevator.

"Shouldn't we close the doors on that thing…I mean, no one will be able to call it back up if we leave them open?" Now she was whispering too. His hand was still gently stroking her back.

"Hmm…" he began, absent-mindedly, with mock innocence, "now there's a thought. I mean, I _am_ getting terribly poor at remembering small details like well, um, …what did you say your name was again, my dear?" He brought his arm up around her shoulders now, and turned to kiss her forehead.

"Honestly, Joseph…what are you like?" she chuckled, bringing a hand to rest on his chest. Almost instantly, though, she checked herself. Reluctantly she pulled away, hating herself for it, "Joseph", she began, her tone serious, stepping slightly away from him, taking control of the situation, "we must be careful, my dear, the cameras – I am well aware of the fact that my every footstep is tracked."

He caught her elbow as she retreated, countering her formality with his own intimate gesture. He pulled her up close to his face and, leaning in towards her ear whispered "Not down here they're not." His breath was warm and their closeness intoxicating, and for a moment she lost herself. In a small voice, she replied, not quite believing,

"They're not?"

"No. And, um…" he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear distractedly, as he gazed in her puzzled eyes, "I hope it will not displease your Majesty too greatly, but I've also taken the liberty of disconnecting the single camera that covers the entrance to the lift."

"But Joseph, there must be millions of pounds worth of art down here, are you telling me that nothing is monitored?" He smiled, trust her to argue… He took her hand in his and, reassuringly stroking her fingers, began to lead her down the gloomy corridor.

"Well, my dear, unlike people, works of art generally don't move by themselves. And, to be honest, until they do move, there's not much point filming them. The whole vault system is locked down with two security programs, one infra-red, which covers movement; and the other senses body heat. When I'm in here, it's rather assumed that I'm not running off with the Rembrandts and so the system is taken down. I'll put it back on when we leave. In any case, no cameras."

"You did all that?"

Her innocent surprise clearly amused him, but then he stopped for a moment, perhaps wondering if he'd startled her, taken too much control and rushed her maybe?

"Too much?" he asked softly, a hint of anxiety visible on his features in the blue-tinted light.

She turned to face him again, narrowing the gap between them, her hand still caressing his. Closing her eyes, she brushed her lips gently against his, hardly touching. Teasing, and yet deadly serious. He brought his arm around her, drawing her impossibly closer, and she deepened the kiss, savouring the moment, feeling him smile against her lips.

"So that's a no, then?" he murmured, kissing her nose,

"Glad we're all clear on that."

He released her hand and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. Curling her arms around his waist, she laid her head on his shoulder.

"I've missed you Clarisse." He said it simply, the honesty in his words not requiring any hyperbole.

She sighed, stroking his back, wondering how to phrase it, "You know, last night I almost came to find you…"

"You did?"

"Hmm…I couldn't sleep, I hadn't seen you all day. I spent nearly an hour trying to figure out a pretext on which I might come and see you." She shook her head a little, obviously remembering something, and the movement prompted him to step back a little and take her face in his hands.

"And…? What happened? Did you find a better offer?", he teased, his curiosity genuinely piqued, as she looked bashfully down at the floor,

"No. Worse… I'm afraid I fell asleep…"

He couldn't help but laugh at that, and, once she saw the funny side, they were both giggling like schoolchildren. As he regained his composure, he stroked a hand down her cheek, thoughtfully.

"You look so beautiful when you laugh, you know?" She too grew serious now, and turning her face to kiss his hand, replied, her voice a little unsteady,

"Thank you for giving me something to laugh about."

He met her gaze and smiled. There was nothing more to be said. Placing an arm around her shoulders he started to lead them down towards the end of the corridor. He decided to change the subject.

"Now, about these paintings, do you have any particular preferences? I spent most of last winter reorganising the storage broadly into genres and periods, so if you already have an idea…"

She smiled to herself. Joseph the art critic, who would have thought it? But then again, what was there to be surprised at? He was without doubt one of the most intelligent men she had ever met, and she was sure that dark waters ran very deep in his case. Coming back to herself she realised that she had been staring at him, and blushed. "Oh, well, not really…something with detail, nothing too early, definitely easy on the gold"

He laughed at her description and shook his head a little.

"Right, well, why don't we go and have a look at some of the smaller canvases in this vault, down here on the left. Everything is post-Baroque, so I promise, not too much gold!"

They stopped outside the heavy metal door as he took out a series of swipe cards. Finding the right one, he opened the computer panel and fed it in, waited for a moment as the chip was read, and then removed it. The internal bolts clunked, making Clarisse jump a little, and the door swung open, revealing a dimly lit room, with what looked like old-fashioned book stacks mounted in the centre.

"After you, my dear" he offered, motioning for her to lead the way. Instead, she took his hand, and gingerly stepped in with him. It really wasn't very dusty at all, and the hum of what she imagined to be a humidifier in the corner of the room was the only sound she could hear apart from their breathing.

"It's so quiet down here", she whispered, shivering a little "and cold. And, Joseph, where are the paintings?"

Dropping her hand, he moved towards the large cases and turned one of the metal handles. Bit by bit, the stacks separated, until there was space between each one to walk comfortably.

"I'm afraid there's little I can do about the temperature, darling, but the paintings are in here. Come…" he held out his hand and, pulling her gently towards him, led her into the newly created miniature corridor. He let her walk in front of him, and took the opportunity to rub his hands up and down her arms, bringing her a little warmth.

Her eyes had adjusted now to the gloomy light, and suddenly the paintings began to leap out at her. He smiled as she looked from one to the next, like a child in a sweet shop, not knowing where to stop. Up one corridor, down the next. They were mainly landscapes in this section, from various sources, some French, some Italian, a few Dutch.

"Joseph", she spun round, waiting for him to catch up, "Look at this one…aren't the colours incredible? So intense, and yet almost desperately controlled, it's beautiful."

He looked up, following her pointing finger, knowing already the image he would see, and smiled. "Trust you to pick that one out…"

She turned back to the painting, assessing it again. "Why, don't you like it? It reminds me of something…maybe somewhere…I don't know…but I'm sure I've never seen it before. It's so powerful though, more of a feeling than a place." She turned round to find him right behind her, also looking up at the painting, a smile playing on his lips. "Joseph?"

"Well, it is rather a conundrum this one, no one really knows who painted it, or, more to the point, how it ended up here in the collection." He continued to gaze at the painting, absent-mindedly continuing, "The style is very much like some of Monet's London paintings. As I said, no one really knows…it might be a fake, perhaps an imitation, or, well…who knows."

She looked a little puzzled. "Hmm…so you found it funny that I managed to pick out the mysterious impostor, the lowliest amongst a collection of priceless art?" She was teasing, not a little amused by the irony herself.

"Hardly, my dear." He drew his eyes away from the painting and looked at her now. There was an intensity there that she had not previously noticed. He smiled again, and it softened. "What really amuses me is that you managed to pick out, from all this priceless art, the painting that I love the most."

"Really?" It was her turn to smile now.

"Really. And you described it just as I see it. There's something mysterious about it, something hidden. There's a depth in that work which doesn't offer itself to be seen."

They were both looking at it now, side by side, captured for a moment. She took his hand in hers, lacing her fingers with his own, leaning a little into his shoulder.

"Is that the one you want?" he asked softly.

"No. I couldn't." He looked at her questioningly. "This one stays here…where I can see it with you…like this." He stroked her thumb with his and nodded.

"So…more paintings?"

"If you don't mind? Could we look at something a bit different? Maybe something with figures in, something mythical?"

He wrapped an arm round her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "Your wish is my command…"


	8. Chapter Eight

A/N Hello again! Another chapter done… The painting is a real one – it's beautiful, so do have a look on Google if you're interested. Thanks for all your wonderful reviews – every one of them is appreciated. Hope you like this instalment. More up mid-week. Promise. /tc/

Several hours passed, and they began to grow hungry. After Joseph's stomach rumbled loudly for the third time in as many minutes, Clarisse couldn't help but laugh, and declared they should take a lunch break. He groaned, and caught up with her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and started kissing the back of her neck, "But then I'll have to stop doing this…"

His stomach growled, louder this time, and she burst out laughing again, shaking against him as she giggled.

"Hey, you're not meant to do that, I'll start to get insecurity issues!"

She turned in his arms now, and clasping her hands around the back of his neck, pulled back a little to playfully scrutinise him. "Hmm…a security guard with insecurity issues…no, we definitely can't have that now, can we?" And with that she leant in to kiss him properly.

"Seriously though, we should eat something…"

"I know." He sighed, and straightened the scarf round her neck. "What would you like? I could arrange to have them prepare lunch for you…and I can quickly grab a bite in the kitchen in the meantime…wouldn't take a second", he said, reaching into his pocket and slipping out his cell phone.

"No, no…I'm really not that hungry, I just want a snack too." And with a shy smile, "And I'd really prefer to stay with you." She took the phone from his hand, and for a moment toyed with it, clearly weighing things up.

"How do I call the kitchens?" Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact. He eyed her cautiously, wondering where she might be going with this.

"03, and then 445…why?"

She turned round and took a few paces away from him, flipping open the phone, dialling the number, and resting the handset against her ear.

"Hello. Marcus? This is the Queen…no, no, there is no problem. I'm currently in the middle of looking around the art collections in the palace vaults, and was wondering if it might be possible for you to put together something to eat to save me from coming up? No, just sandwiches…nothing complicated, please. That will do perfectly. No, don't concern yourself, I shall send Joseph up. Has he not?" she chuckled as Marcus recounted how Joseph hardly ever managed to remember his own lunch, and so hoped she'd get it safely. "Maybe I could persuade him too?" Again, she laughed, and Joseph began to feel a little awkward. "No that would be fine…what a nice idea, I'll ask him…" she paused for a moment, looking coyly over her shoulder at Joseph's confused face, "yes, he would. That is perfect. Thank you."

She snapped the phone shut, with a smile, and felt a strong hand on her shoulder.

"Was that really wise?" She leant back a little, resting against his chest, feeling his other arm wrap around her. She sighed, not wanting to think about it, for a moment wanting to be free of implications, insinuations and the like. She sighed audibly.

"Probably not. But something tells me this isn't going to be the last time I take a risk for you…" He smiled, turning her round, embracing her tightly as she snuggled into his chest.

"Really…what am I going to do with you?" He hadn't meant it as anything more than a throwaway line, but she lifted her head to look at his face, replying seriously, whispering softly,

"I really don't know, Joseph. I don't know at all." She paused, idly stroking his chest, clearly looking for the right words. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and seeing the warmth that issued from them, continued. "For the first time in my life I'm entirely adrift, I don't know what I should do, or who I should be, and…I don't know where I am."

He held her tightly against him, gently lowering her head back to his chest, as he stroked her hair, and whispered, "You are here, that is enough for now", dropping a kiss on the top of her head as if to emphasise his point.

"But that's just it, I don't know any more where 'here' is…or where we are." She sighed, confused at how she could feel so completely secure in his arms, and yet so unstable.

"Is 'here' really so very bad?" She smiled at his words, remembering their first meeting out on the balcony, "No – 'here' is perfect, adrift is perfect…"

"You're just suffering from a little seasickness?" She couldn't help but smile at this, once again touched by how well he could raise her mood instantly.

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"If it makes you feel better, believe me, I'm struggling a little myself."

"You are?"

"Mmm…I'm so scared that I'll open my eyes and you'll be gone again" He held her tighter.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise." She paused for a moment, and then, playing him at his own game, pushed him back a little, fixing him squarely in the eyes, "You, on the other hand mister, are going up to the kitchens…I want my lunch."

He laughed, and releasing her from his arms, did his best to straighten out his jacket and adopt a formal pose, replying in his most wooden "Yes, your Majesty"

He moved towards the door, but then turned back, and with some concern in his voice asked "Will you be ok down here on your own?" She smiled and nodded,

"I'll just have a wander round these last few stacks, I shan't go far."

"OK, I'll be five minutes…don't steal anything!"

She was still laughing as she heard the cage of the elevator slam shut. With a few moments to herself now, without distractions, however pleasant they might be, Clarisse decided to get on with choosing a picture. As wonderful as this morning had been so far, she really hadn't suggested it as a pretence, and given her busy schedule, she couldn't be sure when she'd next have the chance to come down here.

She wandered along the stacks with more purpose now, stopping to survey now and again the odd picture that took her fancy. Nothing really seemed appropriate for her room. Turning a corner, she found some portraits, some of which she quite liked, but nothing really…well…special. She wanted something more than an attractive splodge on the wall.

And then she saw it. A reasonably large canvas, depicting a dark-haired woman in a beautiful cream and red dress, looking sadly down to her right. It was detailed, a domestic interior, maybe a bedroom, draped in exquisite fabrics, detailed objects scattered on a table. But it was the woman that captured her gaze. She was young, although definitely not a girl, and her expression was almost too complex to be real. She seemed to have fallen out of time almost. It was sadness, but not despair…contemplation perhaps, resignation? No, there was hope too, and an overwhelming feeling of presence. This woman was not grieving, she was thinking – maybe about what she had done, maybe about what she would do, but there was no sense of indecision. And Clarisse couldn't take her eyes away from her face.

She had no idea how long she had stood there, but it must have been some time, for soon she could hear Joseph's familiar footsteps approaching. He arrived at the doorway and, with an exaggerated flourish of his hand that looked entirely out of place with his leather jacket, announced that lunch was served.

They sat on a battered old chaise longue, long-forgotten in a corner of one of the warmer vaults, to eat their lunch. Clarisse finished first, and sat back to watch Joseph finish off the sandwiches.

"I'm pleased you're eating…Marcus said you don't usually eat. You should, you know…" He smiled, finishing his mouthful, "That's not exactly true…I do eat, just not when Marcus is around."

She looked at him suspiciously, wondering where this was going. "But you can't tell me you have a problem with his food – it's exquisite. That man's a Michelin starred chef, I picked him myself."

He had finished his sandwich now and scooted over to loop his arms round her. She leant against him a little, and then, to his surprise, tucked her feet up onto the couch and relaxed fully against him.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do, why…is it something terribly shocking?"

"I suppose that would depend upon your perspective."

She turned to look up at him, and rather ungracefully fell into his lap. Stifling an urge to laugh, he merely brushed her hair gently away from her forehead, and continued.

"You see, my dear, Marcus always prepares the staff meals to coincide with the end of your own….when you get coffee…"

"Or tea", she added with a smile.

"Or tea…we get fed. And you see, well, that moment after dinner, when you take a walk in the garden, it's the only moment…"

"…when we are ever alone." She finished for him, realising, perhaps for the first time, the depth of what this man would do for her. What he would do for them. Such a simple thing, and yet, it was so much more. She reached up to stroke his face, running her thumb over his lips, gazing into his eyes. She knew then that she could lie like this forever…in both its senses.

"I found the picture I want – it's in the last vault I was looking at, do you want to come and see her?"

"Her?" She nodded, and started to raise herself up off his lap, only to be softly held down by his strong arm. "Describe her to me…I don't think I ever want to get up from here"

She chuckled, settling back again. "I think it's nineteenth century, maybe Rossetti…an interior setting, it's very detailed." She paused for a moment, trying to fix the image in her mind. She looked up at Joseph and noticed his eyes were closed. "There is a woman dominating the scene…she's tall and elegant, I can't tell her age, she has dark hair, and a flowing dress, in red and cream brocade, I think. She is difficult to describe…I saw lots of things in her face, and yet not one adjective fitted perfectly."

"Tell me what you saw in her face." He said it softly, his eyes still closed in contemplation.

"Sadness, mixed with determination and hope. She's intelligent, and yet unhappy, though not regretful. I think she knows something. Maybe something she shouldn't have seen. I don't know. She confuses me, and yet it is compelling…Do you know the painting I'm describing, Joseph?" She looked up again, to find his eyes filled with the same intensity she'd seen earlier.

"Yes, I know the painting."

"And…?" She was confused by his reaction…surely he couldn't have two favourite paintings? That would just be getting silly. "What is it, darling, why are you looking at me like that?" She laughed, a little nervously, raising her hand, about to touch him, when he grasped it in his, and pressed it to his lips.

"I'm sorry…it's just…" He looked at her again, wondering if she was ready to hear this. "The painting is by Millais, one of the pre-Raphaelites. It's sometimes known as 'La Belle Iseult', the beautiful Isolda."

"So it's based on an Arthurian mythic figure?"

"Well, yes…yes and no. It is. But it also has another name. Clarisse…the painting most generally accepted to be of Guinevere, Arthur's wife, lover of Lancelot."

He looked at her cautiously, not sure how she would take this. She had already shown today how difficult she was finding this 'situation'. He didn't want to scare her, to corner her more than she already felt. For a moment she looked at him, and then her eyes closed. He recognised this trait of hers, this fleeting space of privacy that she created occasionally. He was sure that numerous diplomats and party guests had never noticed her momentary shutting down, her regaining of composure, but he had, and knew better than to push her. He just stroked her arm reassuringly.

After a few seconds, her eyes flickered open, and he felt his throat tighten as he saw the tears in them. She moved to sit up, and this time he didn't stop her, instead supporting her as she twisted round to sit opposite him. He moved to pull away from her slightly, not sure how to play this one, but she clasped his hands in her own. Looking up again to her face, though, he was surprised to find her smiling. She took a shaky breath, "Bloody paintings…"

He laughed then, and cautiously asked if she was alright.

"Yes." She smiled, wiping away the stray tears with her hand, and with more confidence, "Yes." He moved in closer then, and began to drop little kisses over her eyelids and her cheeks. He felt her hands loop around the back of his head and he moved a little lower, teasing her jaw and around her lips. She moaned slightly and he pressed his lips against hers, gently at first, and then with more intensity. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate. The world seemed to evaporate around her, and Clarisse's mind was filled with Joseph, only Joseph. The feel of his hand stroking through her hair, his cologne, his arms, strong and wrapped around her, his taste in her mouth. Her whole body responded to him, wanting him impossibly closer, pulling him down with her onto the couch, wanting to feel his weight upon her.

He broke the kiss only to begin another, feeling her hands caressing his back, moving underneath his shirt… He pulled back a little, looking deep into her blue eyes, seeing his own desire mirrored there. He kissed her nose, and whispered softly, almost inaudibly, "Not here. Not like this"

She closed her eyes and nodded, once again touched by his foresight and control. She let out a deep breath, and opened her eyes, as he slowly began to sit back up. His hand was still cupping her cheek, and she turned to kiss it, which elicited a shaky sigh from him. She was so beautiful lying there, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling.

"Not like this." She echoed his words, but in her mouth they acquired a new resonance. He had sounded ragged, almost desperate, and yet now, on her lips, it was seductive, full of unspoken promise.

They smiled, their breathing returned to normal, the urgency passed.

She sat up, smoothing out her skirt a little, and turned to face him,

"When will I see you again, Joseph, it's getting late now…" It sounded more like a question to herself than to him.

"Like this…I don't know, my dear. As soon as I can think of something. You should start taking more walks around the extensive gardens…"

She smiled, demurely, "Good for my health?"

"Hmm…something like that."

They collected her painting from the vault and began to make their way to the lift. With the painting under one arm, Joseph looped his other around her shoulders. Their steps were painfully slow, neither wanting the moment to end.

As they stepped into the cage, he set the painting down carefully and took her in his arms one last time. She swallowed, keeping back the tears that threatened to fall. "This is not goodbye, Clarisse." She nodded, and, closing her eyes, kissed him gently on the lips. She broke away slightly, centimetres from his face, "I love you, Joseph". It was only the faintest whisper, but to Joseph it resonated round the room. He stroked her nose with his own, dropping a kiss on her cheek, "I love you too."

They stood for a moment, content to stay in each others arms, until Clarisse slipped her hand into Joseph's pocket and handed him the key to the elevator mechanism.

"Back to reality?" He rubbed her back gently, soothing.

"No…back to fiction, my love"

As she stretched out on the large bed, yawning, Clarisse realised that she was alone. She cast a glance over to the clock on her bedside table, six-thirty. Great. She looked over to the other side of the bed and noted it hadn't been slept in, by the looks of it. She frowned, wondering where he had got to. She smiled to herself, remembering the wonderful dream she'd had, so fresh like it was only yesterday. And yet she remembered all of their meetings in such detail, for so long they had been all she had had to comfort her. Sighing a little, her mind wandered to the present circumstances, and their still secret assignations. Of course, things _were_ very different now, but they were most definitely not perfect. At home she would have to think seriously about this…

In the meantime, she was more concerned about what had become of her Head of Security, and, stretching her arms above her head, and slipping out of bed, she went off in search of him.


	9. Chapter Nine

A/N OK, I've had to take a few plot liberties in this chapter (and from now on!) I've not seen all the second movie yet, but in any case, there seems to be a problem knitting the end of the first one (where Mia and her mum go to Genovia) and the second, where it seems she's been attending school in the States again. In my world, it works as follows… Mia travels with Clarisse back to Genovia at the end of the first movie, for good (leaving her mum in SF.) She makes regular trips home though. I'm going to run the two films together, ignoring the small age issue, and assume that the wedding (;o) yeah, like I was going to chop that bit…) is about two months after they land in Genovia. Hope that doesn't mess with your minds too much – not having seen all the film, I'm not sure how much I'm changing. On with the story…hope you're not getting too frustrated with my near-crawling speed in plot development!

Already having a hunch where he'd be, she decided to get herself up and ready first. After a quick shower and a little make-up, she was fit to face another day.

She found him still curled up in the chair, book open on his lap, sleeping like a little boy. Noting the title she wondered, mischievously, how far he'd managed to get before falling asleep. She knelt down beside the chair, and watched him sleep for a moment. He looked so innocent, so entirely at peace, so, well, beautiful. He worked so hard, and such long hours, worrying about her, never giving a single thought to his own well-being. If anyone deserved to rest it was him. It was with regret that she leant across to stroke his hand, rousing him gently. A small voice in the back of her mind told her to stop, told her to leave him sleep, to let Charlotte or whoever march in on them, to face the inevitable music… "And dance…", she whispered softly to herself, with a sorrowful smile. No dancing yet. Not yet.

Stirred by her touch, Joe opened his eyes drowsily. Seeing her looking back at him, he smiled.

"What time is it?" he enquired, his voice still croaky with sleep.

"Nearly seven, I'm afraid, my love"

"I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep…just give me a second…" he rubbed his eyes, willing them to open and come into focus. She stood up, kissing his forehead as she did.

"It's fine, don't worry, I have to get dressed before I can leave." She padded across the bedroom, in her robe and slippers, towards the dressing room.

He smiled at that, turning in his seat to watch her begin her selection. It was a standing joke between the staff who attended the Queen that she was terrible at deciding what to wear, and it amused Joe no end. She opened the first huge wardrobe and then the next, then the next…standing back, a hand ruffling her hair in concentration. He stood up, and moved quietly across the room to stand next to her.

"Hmm…you're right, there's absolutely nothing in here that you'd look good in", he teased, shaking his head a little for emphasis.

"Oh stop it," she chided, "Today it's important. I'm going to have to meet the press after we land in Genovia, and I don't want something that's going to be creased after an 11 hour flight…"

"Why not just change? Throw on a pair of jeans now and switch to the Valentino somewhere roughly over Portugal." She chuckled at that one, playfully swiping at him.

"Look, you know as well as I do that the Queen doesn't wear jeans…and if you're not going to be helpful…" He held his hands up in mock surrender, and then casually throwing an arm around her shoulders, pulled her close and kissed her cheek. "You'll look wonderful in anything, my dear…but would you like a hand?"

She cast another overwhelmed glance at the three open closets, packed with enough clothes to fill a department store and sighed. "Would you?"

He smiled at her lovingly, and then looked back at the rails. After selecting a pale pink suit in record time, he turned back for her approval. She nodded. He loved this – God, he loved her – but he was touched by the trust she placed in him. On the occasions that he could stay in her suite, it had become their morning routine. Ever since he had told her she should wear less black. That had been the first night, for such a very long time, that they had been together, when she had properly let him back in. He smiled again, handing her the clothes, rousing himself from difficult memories.

They both dressed quickly. He had remembered to bring a change with him the night before, and was soon ready in his usual attire. Clarisse took, as per usual, a little longer. At seven-thirty sharp, she moved towards the door. Her hand on the doorknob, she pulled Joe close, and they shared an intense, yet delicate kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him, losing themselves momentarily in the intimacy. She curled against his chest, savouring the comfort, the sense of identity she carved out from them, and whispered,

"See you in the car, darling?" He stroked her hair and then, cradling her face in his palms, kissed her nose.

"Of course. See you later."

She smiled, her eyes twinkling.

"Now go to work…"

She laughed, pulling away, her hand returning to the door, feeling his on the small of her back.

As the door opened, Joe stepped back into the room. Clarisse stepped out, confident, her head held high. She greeted the guards outside her door with a courteous "Good morning", and they proceeded to escort her down to the breakfast room. Meanwhile, Joe gathered up his dress shirt and tux and, checking the coast was clear, left the suite and made for his own room. In a few seconds he was there, and, shutting the door behind him, smiled with relief. "Really…" he muttered to himself, "I'm getting far too old for this kind of lark."

The morning passed reasonably uneventfully. Clarisse took breakfast and then spent an hour or so organising some final paperwork, approving the staffing arrangements in San Francisco in her absence and the like. Lunch was, as frequently happened, forgotten in a pile of files. At three, she took tea. Just as she was finishing her second cup, Charlotte entered and announced that her cases were packed and loaded and the cars would be ready shortly.

"Thank you, Charlotte. Tell me, is Helen here yet?"

"Yes your Majesty, she is with Princess Amelia, in the reception room."

"How are they doing? Should I go down yet?" She knew this would be difficult, and part of her hated herself for what she was asking her granddaughter to do. But it was a decision that had to be taken. Helen would visit often, and Amelia would be able to come and stay frequently in the embassy here. She thought back to her own separation from her mother, prompted by her marriage to Rupert, and remembered the emotionally strained conversations.

"I wouldn't worry too much, your Majesty, Amelia is doing very well. She understands, you know." Charlotte glanced at her watch. "In any case, we should begin to think about moving anyway, it's nearly four."

"Indeed, thank you Charlotte, I will join you downstairs in a minute. And Charlotte…?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

"Please arrange for Amelia to share my car. I know Joseph will object to me complicating his security strategy, but I've a feeling she might need a shoulder to cry on."

As she reached the foot of the stairs, Joe came in from the front door to announce the cars were ready. Their eyes met, and both smiled. She could have sworn he winked at her, and she blushed a little. Mia and Helen came in from the reception room, Helen's eyes clearly red from tears. Joe decided to step outside again for a moment, to wait for Clarisse in the car. This would be a difficult scene, a private moment, and he didn't really want to intrude.

Clarisse noted his departure, smiling to herself. He always knew the correct way to handle these things. She cleared her throat, and spoke, in a soft, but firm voice,

"Amelia, it is time for us to go, my dear." She moved across the room and to the door then, casting a glance back, but wanting to give them their moment.

"Goodbye Helen, I look forward to seeing you soon in Genovia."

Stepping outside, she made her way to the car. As Martin opened the door for her, she wasn't surprised to see Joseph already sitting by the window.

"Joseph?" She feigned surprise, her smile giving her away nonetheless.

"Your Majesty? Yes…um…I'm afraid it would appear I miscalculated on the number of drivers I engaged this morning. And a little bird tells me that Princess Mia will not be requiring her limousine…and so I'm rather out of a ride. I'm afraid, given the rather unconventional security risk of two royals in the same car, it would be advisable for me to ride with you."

She smiled, and, turning across to glance at Martin, who had by now installed himself behind the wheel, chided,

"Joseph, it is inappropriate for us to discuss such matters here, you know as well as I do that security arrangements must be kept entirely confidential, as much for the listener's safety, as the speaker's." Confident it was below her driver's line of vision, she slid her hand across the seat, until it came to rest on Joe's knee.

"If you will excuse us, Martin…" and with that, Clarisse nudged the button to close the privacy screen.

He brought his hand down to cover hers, and slipped an arm around her to pull her a little closer, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. She sighed, and then inhaled deeply.

"You used my shower gel again…you smell of bergamot…'

He smiled, feeling her relax against him. She spoke again,

"I'm sorry about Amelia, do you mind?"

He stroked his hand up and down her arm reassuringly,

"Of course not. I think you're right to worry…she's holding up well now, but she's a sensitive thing, this can't be easy for her."

She turned out of his embrace to face him, placing a hand either side of his face. Kissing him ever so lightly, she smiled, "Thank you"

They heard voices approaching, and Joe straightened himself up a little, and moved to sit in the spare seat, his back to the screen, facing the rear. Clarisse shuffled across to where Joe had been. As she entered the car, Mia seemed a little surprised to find Joe already there, but she smiled and settled back into the seat. No one said anything for a moment, as the car pulled away. Mia looked down at her hands, playing with her ring, only looking out of the window when they were travelling down the freeway. Clarisse and Joe exchanged worried looks. Mia this quiet was not a good sign. She was staring blankly out the window now, and from his position Joe could see that her eyes were filling with tears. He looked at Clarisse again, who, realising his meaning, shifted across a little and placed a hand on Mia's shoulder.

"Amelia, darling, it's alright to cry, you know"

To her surprise, and relief, Mia turned and practically threw herself into Clarisse's arms, and began to sob. As Clarisse wrapped her arms tightly around the girl, and murmured soothing words, she began to calm a little. Joe shuffled a little uncomfortably in his seat, wishing he could join in, knowing that it was inappropriate. That girl had become the granddaughter he'd never had, and he could hardly bear it watching her so upset.

Between muffled sobs, Mia began to speak.

"You know…grandma…it's…it's…it's really not so easy being a princess sometimes"

If it were possible, Clarisse pulled her even closer, stroking her back. Her own eyes closed for a moment, a single stray tear slivered down her own cheek as she opened them, and met Joseph's compassionate gaze.

"I know, my darling…", she tried to smile, to keep her voice steady, still looking at him, "…sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world."

By the time they arrived at the airfield, both royals had regained their composure, and Mia was even getting excited about the trip ahead. As Joe well knew, Clarisse was less enthusiastic. As much as she was longing to go home, she did not appreciate the experience of flying. Yes, she had grown more accustomed to it over the years, well, at least more accustomed to masking her fear, but it was obvious to him how on edge she was. Clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap, she fidgeted on the seat. He wondered if she had remembered to take something to calm her.

The plane was already loaded and waiting for clearance when they arrived. Mia practically skipped up the stairs, clearly thrilled at the prospect of a private jet. Clarisse had ensured there would be no press at the airstrip, and so the young princess was in her element, babbling away to the amused Charlotte. At the foot of the steps, Clarisse hesitated a moment, hardly noticeable to anyone, but he saw it. In an instant, he was close behind her. Carefully hidden by his body, he raised a hand to the small of her back, stroking her discreetly with his thumb. Leaning forward an inch, he whispered in her ear,

"It's going to be fine…I'm here."

She smiled, leaning back a little against his palm, and began to carefully mount the steps. He followed, maintaining the slight pressure until they reached the entrance to the plane. She entered first, while he stopped to talk to the pilot. There were few seats, maybe eight or ten, but they didn't sit together. As he walked past her to find his own place at the rear, she stopped him. He turned, hand stilled on her armrest.

"Joseph?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

She bit back a smile, and asked in all seriousness, "I don't suppose if you know whether Charlotte has remembered to include my books in the cabin items, do you?"

"I don't know, your Majesty, I will go and enquire…"

"Thank you Joseph." She smiled again and, unseen by anyone on the plane, quickly ran her fingers over his hand.

After about five hours of flying, the captain dimmed the cabin lights, so they could all snatch a few hours sleep. They were scheduled to arrive in Genovia at seven in the evening, local time, and so this probably wasn't the best idea for jetlag, but everyone was tired. Well, nearly everyone.

After making sure that everyone was sound asleep, and suppressing a laugh at how Fat Louie had installed himself on Charlotte's lap and was covering her new suede skirt in fur whilst she slept on unaware, Joe quietly made his way down the cabin. He wandered into the cockpit, to check on progress, and satisfied, he went back into the cabin. She was asleep, curled up against a pillow, her feet tucked under her, her book lying open on the seat beside her. Her face was relaxed, a smile playing on her lips, clearly dreaming of something nice. He hoped it involved him. He noticed her shiver a little, and almost instantly, felt chilled himself. After a brief search, he found what he was looking for, and waked towards her. Sitting down in the space next to her, he carefully wrapped the blanket around her. She stirred a little, and seeing who it was, tried to wake herself.

"Joseph?"

He placed his finger on her lips to silence her. He moved closer and, caressing the nape of her neck, softly kissed her cheek. He whispered against her ear,

"Shhh…everyone is asleep…let's keep it that way." She nodded, her eyelids heavy from the mild sedative she'd taken earlier. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to lie against him. "We can't stay like this", she murmured against his chest, "I'll be asleep in a moment."

"It's ok, relax, I'll be awake. No one will stir for another hour or so…I just wanted to hold you for a while." She turned into his chest, and kissed him through his shirt. He groaned involuntarily, and stroked her hair. Thankfully, she was asleep in mere seconds…any more of that sweet torment and, by God, somehow or other he would have persuaded Genovia's favourite queen to join the Mile High Club. True to his word, when she awoke, he was gone, the blanket still wrapped around her the only trace of him having been there.


	10. Chapter Ten

A/N OK, finally another chapter! This one took a bit longer to write, mainly because I've had to plan out the whole story, and all the plot lines before beginning this one, just to make sure they all fitted! I'm afraid it's going to be tough sailing for the next few chapters (hence me playing with Ain't Misbehavin' to lighten the mood!!) but, I promise, it will all be hugs and kisses again soon. Thanks for your wonderful reviews – they are THE best incentive to keep going ;o)

Aware of how tired Amelia and herself would be upon arrival in Genovia, Clarisse had changed her mind about their arrival arrangements in Genovia and pre-arranged for there to be no official welcome or press conference at the airport. Instead, Amelia would be introduced to the Genovian public at the end of the week, starting with a visit to parliament, and a photo call afterwards. Sitting back in the limousine, her head resting on the cool leather, she sighed with relief. As much as she relished her role as queen, occasionally it was good to postpone duty. She slipped her shoes off, and stretched out her feet a little. She'd always hated flying, for as long as she could remember, and the relief she felt upon arrival always tended to make her a little drowsy.

This time, Joseph and Amelia were travelling together and, for once, she was relishing the solitude. The privacy screen was up, and she yawned loudly, screwing up her eyes. Her back was still a little stiff, and she squirmed around rather ungraciously, trying to get comfortable. Turning up the air conditioning a notch, she slumped back in the seat. As the car wound through the Genovian countryside, in the evening light, she looked out through the one-way glass. She was humming to herself, thoroughly contented, pleased to be home.

All in all the trip had gone better than her wildest expectations. Amelia, despite her occasional moments of clumsiness was every bit the beautiful young lady she had hoped to find. She had learnt fast and shown true courage. Best of all, she had forgiven her for the years of absence. Clarisse was so proud of her.

And then there was Joseph. They had arrived as friends, each as cautious and guarded as the other. They had burnt each other so very badly, caused scars they had both believed too deep to heal, that friendship had been all they had dared to hope for. She saw that now. For months they had danced around each other in an elaborate waltz, neither willing to truly open themselves again the danger. The words had already all been spoken. And yet they had chosen to grow deaf.

And then he had taken her hand, and they had danced together, for the first time in over a year. That night, they had both listened. That night, she thought, with a wry smile, she had not cried.

But now was not the time for such sombre thoughts of what might never have been, she scolded herself. They were together now, and it was enough. More than enough.

The cars arrived at the palace at around seven thirty, and, once Amelia had stopped bouncing, Clarisse gave her a tour of the main sections of the castle. Dismissing the immediate staff, and suggesting everyone take the evening off, she led her granddaughter around the private family quarters. In spite of her disapproving looks, truth be told she was as thrilled as Amelia by the whole thing, who simply couldn't see or touch enough. Leaving the new princess in her suite to settle in, and probably to try on every item of clothing in there, she chuckled to herself, Clarisse headed towards her own rooms.

As she washed her face, and put on a little light makeup, she was pleased to notice that Charlotte had clearly got there first, and that the maids had managed to unpack all her clothes. She found a pair of dark blue linen trousers and a simple, long-sleeved shift top. Hardly regal enough to open parliament in, but smart nonetheless, and they would do the business. Slipping into them quickly, she ran a hand through her hair, and headed for the door. Wandering down the corridors, it struck her how very claustrophobic the embassy in San Francisco had been in comparison. No wonder she had started to get cabin fever. Here she could wander around relatively undisturbed. Of course, she knew that cameras would be following her every step, but it was not the same. She didn't have to greet them, and ask how their children were. Not that she minded that, of course. But sometimes it was nice not to have to notice those around you.

Out through the doors of her study, she arrived in the gardens. The sun was just beginning to set, and the summer air was heady with the scent of roses. She was in heaven. She wasn't tired any more, indeed, if anything, she was invigorated. She walked through the rose garden, and out onto the great expanse of lawn. Then down to the trees, and around the pool that lay behind them. It always amazed her how quickly nature calmed her, how it made her forget herself. She loved this pool, it was deep and somehow majestic. White marble sculptures were arranged around its banks, and they reflected magically in the still water. In the dying sunlight, they took on an eerie glow, glistening red almost, as their crystals sparkled. She adored the sculptures, but, she reminded herself with a smile, it had not always been so…

After their meeting in the vaults, Joseph and herself had tried desperately to see more of each other without arousing suspicion. All of a sudden, her driver would have to be somewhere else, and Joseph would be called on to take his place; sometimes she would want to go riding, and since Joseph was the only competent horseman in the security team, it would be he who had to accompany her. Likewise, with surprising frequency Clarisse would find herself in need of a hot drink, long after the general palace staff had gone to bed, and would chance upon him in the private kitchen.

Little by little, Clarisse managed to convince her husband that she should know more about the running of the palace, and more and more, her instruction would require Joseph's presence. Indeed, the more she began to consider her days, the more she realised how little she saw of her husband. His routine was fine-tuned: breakfast at eight, then paperwork until eleven. Then he would hold meetings with various aides and diplomats, generally running into lunch. After eating, which he always preferred alone, he would retire to his private library and study, closing the door firmly behind him. Until around seven, then he would read and work by himself, mainly on historical research of his own family and their activities, but sometimes also on matters of state. At seven-thirty sharp, dinner was served. If there were guests, they would entertain, if not, they would talk about the day's events. Usually, he would wish her goodnight at around ten, kissing her cheek, and disappearing into his suite.

Almost every evening, around six o'clock, Clarisse would walk in the gardens and across the lawns. Emboldened by their meeting in the vaults, Joseph even suggested to King Rupert that she should be accompanied, for security reasons. He had agreed, and thought nothing more of it.

It was on one such evening stroll, about two months after their first proper assignation in the vaults, that she had led them down to the lake. It was summer then too, and the air was warm. There was no breeze, and the water of the lake was like a mirror. He had taken her hand in his own, and was stroking his thumb across hers, relishing the peace and quiet, a moment alone.

"Rupert's going to London next week, for a fortnight." Her voice was matter-of-fact, betrayal nothing.

"I know."

"You do?" She turned to look up at him, wondering how he could have known already. Rupert had only told her that morning.

"Mmm…" He slowed his step, gazing out over the water. "Isn't it beautiful this evening, so quiet." She smiled, moving to stand in front of him, taking his other hand.

"Don't change the subject." He looked at her now, and smiling back, dropped a quick kiss to her forehead, and pulled her into his chest.

"I'm not…" wrapping his arms around her as he protested his innocence.

She looped her arms round his neck and scrutinised his eyes,

"So how do you know?"

At this he grinned smugly, and, moving his face to within a centimetre of her own, whispered, seductively,

"Because, my love, I'm not going with him…and he wanted me to arrange security now, in advance."

"You're not going?" She too was whispering now,

"I'm not going…"

Although nothing further was said on the matter, they both realised what this meant, what it could mean. Opportunity.

They had walked in silence for a long time after that, circling the lake. After a while, Joseph had suggested they sit and watch the sunset, as it dropped down over the hills in the distance. He had sat on the grass, and she had lain with her head in his lap, his hand stroking her hair. As the oranges turned to deep reds, and then to pinks, he had asked her which sculpture she liked the best.

"To be entirely honest, I've never really understood the attraction of sculpture…I mean, I know that sounds desperately philistine, but I just don't understand it…"

She turned a little, to look up at him, worried perhaps that she'd disappointed him, only to find him smiling.

"How do you look at the sculpture, Clarisse?"

She smiled back, puzzled by his question.

"Um…in the usual way, with my eyes?"

He brought his hand down to rest on her cheek, caressing it lightly.

"And there we have the problem…you're looking at it in the wrong way."

She giggled, surely he was pulling her leg, "The wrong way….so, pray do tell, how might I look at it the right way?", her voiced laced with sarcasm.

He tutted softly at her flippancy, and slowly traced a line from her forehead, down her nose, and around her lips. "This, my dear, is how one should look at sculpture, with the hands…and with the heart. Every time you see it with your eyes, a sculpture should be speaking to your fingers, tempting them to reach out and caress it." His finger continued its slow journey across her features, as he spoke, "the light also caresses the sculpture, it dances with it, changing it."

She looked up into his eyes, her own a little teary from the beauty of his description, and she understood. And now sculpture was one of her passions too.

Rousing herself from her daydream, Clarisse wondered what time it was. She was beginning to get a little peckish and decided to head in the direction of the palace. Wandering back across the lawns she wondered where Joseph had got to. She knew that he had wanted to debrief all the security staff on arrival, and that that would have taken at least an hour, and then, most probably he would have gone to unpack. She hoped he would have tried to sleep, especially given he hadn't slept at all on the plane, but, knowing Joseph, it was unlikely. She wondered what would be the arrangements for this evening…in San Francisco it had all been so easy, no bad associations, less staff, more time…now it would be different. They would need to talk, she knew that, but she hoped, in the meantime, that they would slip once again into the routine that had become so comfortable abroad.

To her surprise, she found him sitting on a bench in the rose garden. He smiled as she approached.

"Your majesty"

She laughed in spite of herself at his overt formality,

"Joseph"

"Would you care to join me?" He shuffled across, making room for her next to him,

"I don't mind if I do." She laughed again, leaning in towards him slightly as she did. Their backs were to the palace and, safe in the knowledge they were out of sight, she brought her hand down to rest on his knee, stroking him gently.

"Did you have a nice walk?" He fought the urge to slip his arm around her, and contented himself with bringing his hand down to rest on hers.

"Mmm…very peaceful. I was thinking about you, actually…" He smiled, touched by her frankness.

"Really?"

"Yes. That evening when you educated me into the merits of sculpture. It was most…enlightening." She traced her fingers over the fabric covering his thigh. "What was it you said… every time you see it with your eyes, it should be speaking to your fingers, tempting them caress it?"

He swallowed, stilling her hand with his own, replying in a slightly husky tone, "Yes, my dear, I believe it was something alone those lines…"

"You see, I am a very attentive pupil…" Her innocent smile was betrayed by her voice, dripping as it was with sarcasm.

"Indeed."

She sat back in the seat, laughing, removing her hand and stretching both arms out in front of her. "Have you eaten, Joseph?"

"Yes actually" he replied proudly, "for once I actually managed it all by myself." She chuckled again, and, getting to her feet, straightened her shirt a little.

"I, on the other hand, have not…I think I'm going to go in search of Marcus. Do you want to come?"

He looked up, and then out across the gardens and sighed. "You know…if you don't mind, I think I might sit here at bit longer…it's so good to be back…I've really missed this place, you know" She smiled, understanding entirely his sentiment.

"Of course, darling…um…" for a moment she faltered, not quite sure how to ask. She looked up at him, relaxing when she saw he was smiling too. She took a deep breath, "Will I see you later?"

He nodded, tapping the cell phone in his pocket. "Just let me know…"

And with that she left in the direction of the kitchens.

He watched her walking across the remaining section of the garden, admiring not for the first time her posture and bearing. She was a queen…God, she even looked regal when she slept. Not, he thought with a smug smile, that the majority of her subjects would know that…

When she had entered the palace, he looked back out over the lawns. It was such a beautiful evening, so calm, so, so…unlike San Francisco. He remembered the last time he had sat on this bench, a week or so before they had left. How different things had seemed then… Yes, they had been friends, but nothing more. He hadn't dared let himself think of anything more. Too many times he had nearly crumbled and taken her in his arms, but he had always resisted, too afraid of what it might mean to fall that hard again. And then it had happened…as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They needed to talk, that was for sure. Here it would be different, and old wounds would resurface without a doubt.

Without even knowing it, she had done as much this evening, mentioning that walk around the lake. Of course, she couldn't have known its significance, that it was the first time he'd kept something from her, the beginning of the end, in a way, but he did. That night he'd made the decision that had nearly cost him the love of his life…

It had been just after four when King Rupert had summoned him to his office. At the time, it had struck Joe as rather irregular that the King wished to see him alone but, given the confidential nature of security, not that unusual. They had sat down, exchanged pleasantries, and then Rupert had outlined his trip to London. He would be going for two weeks, for talks with the British PM regarding trade arrangements, and then to stay at one of the royal estates, most probably Windsor, for a week's shooting. Joe had nodded, and, as usual taken notes on the itinerary. The description over, they had stood, and he had readied himself to leave.

"Will that be all, your Majesty?"

"Yes Joseph, thank you."

He had walked towards the door, almost reaching it before King Rupert called him back,

"Joseph…"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

"You won't be coming. I want you to stay here and look after the Queen."

Joe looked up at the older man, and their eyes met. In that brief instant Joe realised just how much Rupert had seen, how much he knew. And there was no anger in his eyes. For a moment Joe felt ashamed, like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar…and then, lowering his eyes, he marvelled at the other man's dignity. Nothing was said, there was no need. And so it was not said.

Joe bowed slightly, and moved towards the door.

"Take care of her Joseph, please take care of her."

He turned and, again meeting the King's eyes, nodded, "I will, your Majesty"

He had met Clarisse in the garden later that evening and they had walked down to the lake. Initially he had planned to tell her everything, to let her decide what to do. But, as he held her in his arms, he realised that it would destroy everything. She could deceive her husband only so long as she could keep it separate from her marriage. She maintained her pride and strength in the knowledge that, at least for Rupert, nothing had changed. If he told her, they would both be destroyed. And so he didn't.

He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. These were not the thoughts to be having now. She had forgiven him, and he had forgiven her. The past was the past, all that remained now was for them to bury it once and for all.


	11. Chapter Eleven

A/N Thanks for sticking with this – all will become clear, I promise, as it develops. Basically, I'm tying in the first proposal to painful events in the past, surrounding the two deaths which, once we get there, will explain why J&C were so cautious and, at least in my opinion, mysterious about their relationship in the two films. Anyway, that's just some idea of where we're going…on with the story!

Joe swirled the remaining whisky round in his glass, staring pensively across the kitchen table. It was getting late, probably after ten, he guessed, from the fact it had been dark outside for a good while. He yawned, suddenly exhausted from the day's exertions. It had been a long one and not having slept on the plane hadn't helped matters. He probably shouldn't have had the whisky, but never mind, it wasn't as if he made a habit of it.

Setting his glass down, he ran a hand over his head, coming to rest on the back of his neck, massaging it gently. He wondered whether Clarisse was still awake. He had already decided not to push things, to let her control events, even if that meant spending his evenings like this, in the kitchen with the finest single malt. Yes, she needed to feel comfortable with this.

The kitchen was quiet, the servants all long gone and Joe was left to wait for her call. Indeed, if his head hadn't been so heavy, his eyes so tired, perhaps he would have realised this wasn't the first time he had waited anxiously in this darkened kitchen…?

Rupert had been gone two days before either of them had dared make the first move. Of course, they had seen more of each other, with the inevitable casual stroke of the hand, the glance over the shoulder, but neither had wanted to press the issue. In the end, it was Clarisse who sent the note, inviting him to her rooms. He had no idea how she had placed it on his desk, but she had managed it all the same. It was sealed in a plain envelope, not the royal stationary, he noted. He smiled at her beautiful, sophisticated script, restrained, but nonetheless regal. Her words were simple and to the point:

'Please come tonight. Make a security check in Rupert's suite and lock the door behind you. The connecting door to mine will be open.'

It had required no reply, and he burnt the letter immediately.

That night he had intended to join her as soon as he could after dinner, but, as the evening drew on, he had found himself stalling. By nine, he was sitting in the kitchen, alone, staring at his hands, wondering why they were shaking. Ever since the conversation by the lake, he had been turning the situation over and over in his head, trying to find the best solution. He hadn't been able to ask the King when it was he had found out, but he guessed that he must have seen it all along. The man who had spoken to him had been resigned, accepting, almost. Not at all like a man who had recently discovered his wife was being unfaithful. He had seemed detached, and Joe was unnerved by it.

For the first time in his life, he felt true guilt. It settled on his shoulders, crushing him with its leaden weight, making his breath shallow and his chest tense. He slumped in the chair, head in his hands, desperately fighting his conscience. This was not as simple as regret, for, in truth, he regretted nothing, would do it all again. This was simply the knowledge he would have to live with. And it was a heavy burden. He must do this, though, he knew that, however much it took, he must…it had happened, and if she knew…God, if she knew, it threatened to destroy them. He must shoulder this for them both. For the sake of them both.

He had sat there for a long while, searching himself for the answer that wouldn't come. Looking at his watch, he noticed it was quarter to ten. He took a deep breath, and looking at his hands one final time, balled his fists and stood.

As he entered the King's room, he felt his throat tighten, the smell of stale cigar smoke inescapably reminding him of the man whose room it was. Closing the door behind him, and sliding the bolt across he quickly made his way to the connecting door in the bedroom. Without pausing to look, or think…he pushed it open, and stepped quietly into her suite.

Immediately the atmosphere changed. The room smelt of her perfume and lights were dimmed, warming the room with their soft glow. He glanced round, not seeing her and, for a moment wondered if he'd waited too long… Then her voice, low and slightly husky wafted across from the large armchair, its back to him, on the other side of the suite.

"I was beginning to think you might not come…"

He swallowed, hoping his voice wouldn't seem too strained. When he spoke, it didn't sound to him like his own,

"I'm sorry…I…there were things I needed to attend to."

He stepped closer now, moving towards the chair. She could hear him approaching, and stood up herself, turning slowly to face him.

"For a moment, you know, I almost wondered if it was better if you didn't…" She spoke seriously, tilting her head slightly, looking at him intently.

"For a moment, my love…" his voice faltered, and she stepped forward closer, delicately placing her hand at the nape of his neck, and leaned in to brush her lips against his.

"It wouldn't have changed a thing" she whispered, kissing round his mouth, slowly and deliberately, "I would still have wanted you to come" He sighed, and she pulled back a little, placing both hands on his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak,

"I…I…have to tell you something…" She smiled, her lips curling, never taking her eyes from his.

He swallowed, closing his eyes briefly. As he opened them, she was still smiling. He felt her arms wrap around his back, and, as she pulled him closer, the guilt slipping away. Her eyes were so pure and, in the soft glow of the table lamps they seemed to sparkle. He knew now that he was lost, as lost as he had been the first time they had kissed. He stroked her lips with his index finger.

"I love you, my darling, more than anything else in the world."

The sudden buzzing of his cell phone startled Joe, rousing him from the little sleep he'd been enjoying on the kitchen table. It stopped. Clarisse. He smiled, and, with a yawn, stood up. Giving the glass a quick rinse and setting it on the sideboard, he started in the direction of her rooms. Arriving at the corridor, he suddenly realised that, unlike in San Francisco, there were cameras scanning the main door. Cameras, he thought with a wry smile, that he himself had installed. He shook his head, amused at the irony, and stepped back in the direction he'd come.

Clarisse, on the other hand, was stretched out on top of her bed, trying not to doze off before Joseph got there. She yawned for the third time in as many minutes, and rubbed her eyes in irritation. She was trying to read, but the words kept blurring…she decided to give up. It had probably been a mistake to have tried to work after dinner, but, as always, the papers wouldn't sign themselves, and now at least, she could sleep in a little in the morning. Tomorrow would be a long day, and Amelia would need all the support she could get…

She was mid-yawn when the balcony door creaked open. Startled, she sat up quickly and reached for her book…only to smile when she realised who it was. He smiled back and, taking off his jacket and placing it over the chair, raised an eyebrow at her weapon of choice,

"Hmm…darling, I think maybe we should consider getting you some self-defence coaching…that's hardly the most effective…um…"

She glared, and then, catching the twinkle in his eye, giggled nervously. He loosened his tie, and slipping that off too, placed it next to the jacket. She looked away, and, dropping the book on her bedside table and, switching off the main lights, slipped under the covers. She stretched out, relishing the luxurious feeling of her own bed again, rubbing her face in the pillow and tugging the blanket around her. By now, Joe had divested himself of his suit and, when she opened her eyes, was watching her roll around in the huge bed. She grinned…

"It's so nice to be home…" she yawned sleepily. Taking her outstretched hand he slid in next to her, dropping a kiss to her forehead. Immediately she curled over and wrapped herself around him, her face nuzzling his chest. He stroked her back soothingly, holding her close.

For a long time neither spoke, exhaustion and contentment washing over them in equal measure. Then, unsure whether he was still awake or not, Clarisse whispered gently against his chest,

"Promise me you'll never leave, promise me we can stay like this. I…I don't know what…"

He shifted a little, pulling her up to lie face to face with him, caressing her lips sleepily with his own,

"Hey…" he smiled, stroking her face, touched by how her words had echoed his thoughts, "I'll never leave…not unless you ask me to."

She smiled, bring her head down to rest on his shoulder,

"Then, my love, I promise I never will…"


	12. Chapter Twelve

The sunlight streaming through the south-facing window of her bedroom woke Clarisse early. Still jet-lagged, her body was convinced it was at least mid-afternoon but, as she noted with a grimace, it was only just half-past five in the morning. She yawned, and rubbed her eyes, turning as she did so, to snuggle into Joseph's chest. He sighed a little, and sleepily pulled her closer. From his regular breathing she could tell he was still fast asleep, and she had absolutely no intention of waking him. Carefully, she shifted up the bed, to lay her head on the soft pillow. He groaned, and she couldn't help but smile, placing a hand tenderly on his chest where her head had been. Propping herself up on an elbow, she leisurely stroked his chest, studying his face, tracing the contours with her eyes.

She knew this face so well, almost like her own. He always looked the same when he was asleep. The lines smoothed out and he was as he had always been. She wondered how many of the worry lines on his forehead had been caused by her. She already knew how many of the laughter lines around her own eyes had been thanks to him. More than anything, it had been this that she had missed during those years of silence. These moments of proximity, when she could simply look at him, drown in him… not just snatch mere glimpses when no one was looking. He smiled in his sleep and, ever so carefully, she pressed a kiss to his lips. He didn't stir, but turned in to her, unconsciously drawing her nearer.

Lying back down, she realised that sleep would not come soon. She didn't want to read, and getting up definitely did not appeal. And so she decided, in the warmth of his embrace, to think through, to process for herself, those most painful memories. To face them, safe in the knowledge that they were memories past, and to decide how she would, how _they_ would move on from here….

She couldn't remember when it had all started to fall apart. At the time, she had felt torn between the sense that it was over in a single rash moment, and the deeper cut, that it had always been falling apart. She realised now that both had been true.

Rupert had been ill for some time. For a while the doctors had been hopeful for his full recovery but, as the various possible treatments began to run out, and the brain tumour continued to grow, his prospects had dwindled. Eighteen months after the initial diagnosis, they told him that nothing more could be done, and that he should start to put his affairs in order. They had given him less than three weeks.

Clarisse had only discovered this by accident. Rupert had intended to keep the knowledge to himself, not wanting to burden her, not wanting the mass panic that he had known would ensue, but she had overheard him speaking to his legal advisor about funeral arrangements.

She had stood there, her hand grasping the door handle desperately in an attempt to retain her composure. He had sounded so cold, so…formal. Talking about his own death as if he were planning a state procession. Which of course, he was. Her throat felt tight, and she knew that tears threatened to fall. Closing her eyes tightly, she willed them away, swallowing her grief. In spite of his failings, Rupert was her oldest companion. He was not warm, or loving, but he was her guide and mentor. He was the constant who structured her daily life, the father of her children, her husband. And he was dying.

But she was not supposed to know. He did not want her to know. And so she turned, smoothed out her jacket, and, the queenly mask slipping perfectly into place, walked out into the gardens. She did not know.

But, of course, she did know. She watched Rupert one evening later that week as he made an attempt at eating dinner. His medication affected his appetite and she knew how much he now dreaded eating in company. Glancing round the room, at the servants in attendance, she wondered how many of them knew. She decided that it didn't matter, and speaking discreetly to the head butler, dismissed them all. Rupert looked up from his plate and, for a second, caught her gaze, seeing in her eyes the knowledge he'd been so desperate to hide,

"Thank you, Clarisse." He tried to smile, in that half-hearted, stiff way of his.

She nodded, smiling back. She stood up and, for the first time in their marriage, came to sit next to her husband, at his end of the dinner table. Up close, she noticed that his left hand shook a little as he tried to use his fork. Eventually he gave up, placing his hand on the table. Without a word, she covered it with her own.

That night she had not seen Joseph at all. Nor the night after. Then, Rupert's condition had worsened, and he had become confined to his bed. Clarisse could not bring herself to leave him, knowing how little time he had left, how soon he would be gone. She had felt so cold, so numb. And for the first time in her adult life, entirely powerless. The servants were dismissed from the King's suite, and only Clarisse, his manservant, Arthur and the doctor were admitted. To Joseph she sent a brief note explaining her absence, only to subsequently tear it up. He would understand. Rupert was drifting in and out of consciousness now, and could hardly speak. She slept badly, hunched in one of the chairs in his bedroom, leaving him only briefly to wash and change her clothes. She lost her appetite.

As Rupert drifted into a coma, the doctor advised her to retire to her own rooms for the night, to prepare herself for the now inevitable, to rest for the trials that would surely be ahead. Reluctantly, she had acceded, and, dazedly, she had made her way to her suite. In contrast to Rupert's darkened bedroom, heavy with the smell of medicine, her room was warm and welcoming. A fire had been lit in the sitting room, and tea laid out on the table. For the first time in nearly two weeks, she smiled. A shadow in the corner of the room caught her eye. He stepped forward and, moving towards her held out his arms. In a second she was in front of him, and she sunk into his warm embrace.

"Oh my darling…I've missed you so much." His voice was low and soothing.

"He needs me Joseph." It was a statement, an explanation and a plea all at the same time.

He took a deep breath, and sighed, stroking the back of her head. His voice was concerned and serious,

"Clarisse…you mustn't forget yourself…you…you've been making yourself ill. I've been so worried…I've not seen you for days."

She stepped back, and, placing her hands on his chest, looked at him, not understanding his concern.

"Joseph, he's dying. He needs me. I have to be there for him"

She spoke clearly, her tone clipped and formal, suddenly tired at his misplaced anxiety.

"I know he's dying…but it's killing me to see you do this to yourself." He hadn't meant to raise his voice, but two weeks of exasperation and worry were wearing his nerves thin.

"For God's sake Joseph, this is not about you. And it's not about me." She pushed him away, crossing her arms in front of her, rubbing her upper arms in irritation. "He needs me now, and so I will be here for him. Until the end."

"You must rest Clarisse. Please, eat with me this evening and then rest. From what the doctor told me, he does not even know where he is anymore." His tone was softer now, desperately trying to soothe her. Still, she kept her arm crossed defensively.

"No."

"No?"

"You heard me." She was becoming increasingly angry, how could he not see this? She backed away, moving across the room to her desk. "He is my husband Joseph, and he deserves this at least….at the very least." She turned and stared out of the window into the blackness. "Last night I looked into his eyes and he was scared, terribly scared… I could see it. The man who I have never know to be scared of anything looked as terrified as a small boy." She was wringing her hands, her voice raised, "He will not die believing that I left him alone."

"Clarisse, you cannot do this to yourself." Again, his voice raised against his will.

"For Christ's sake, Joseph, this is not about me!"

She heard him swear, and move towards the door, but still she didn't turn to look at him. She was right, she knew that. Rupert needed her now, and Joseph, Joseph she could speak with later. There was no time for his childish jealousy and misguided concerns.

He reached the door and paused, turning back to look at her, stood so defiantly, so bloody composed again, so arrogantly sure of herself, and, in spite of everything his mind screamed, his heart roared louder,

"For God's sake Clarisse, he knows! He knows everything…I think he always has…"

Her head snapped round, and she fixed him with a glare that chilled him to the bone.

"Get out"

As the door slammed, she felt her knees collapse beneath her and she half-fell, half-sat on the plush couch behind her. For a moment she couldn't comprehend his words, couldn't process their implication. Her heart felt like it had been torn from her and held up for all to see. How many of them had known? How long had Joseph lied? Had it all been a lie? She curled up into a ball, rocking gently to try and soothe herself. What had he reduced her to? She felt sick with guilt and anger, ashamed and broken. She couldn't cry, but was shaking all over, her body living the torment running through her mind. Oh God, Rupert…her heart grew cold at the very thought…what had she done…oh God, what had she done?

A/N Well, I did warn you that it's not very cheery. Will update soon, I promise, with the other part of the break up. Then, all we have to do is put them back together again…


	13. Chapter Thirteen

As he slammed the door behind him, Joe instantly regretted it. He had handled that badly…in the worst possible way. She had needed his support, his comfort, not his anger. But why did she have to be so damn blind? Rupert was dying, the man was practically a vegetable…and she was making herself sick with this twisted mixture of grief and dutiful devotion. It would not bring him back, it would just make her worse. How could she not see that she was doing this out of guilt? For the first time in all the years he had known her, Joe just couldn't understand her, couldn't see how she could deceive herself this way. The woman he knew was smart and level-headed, she dealt well with difficult situations, she…she listened to him. This Clarisse was irrational and misguided and, he now realised, dangerously vulnerable.

For a moment he wondered whether he should go back in and start to pick up the pieces. But he couldn't bring himself to turn back, not yet. He didn't trust himself not to start arguing with her again, to try and make her see sense. And so he walked glumly along the dark corridors to the security room, where he could at least distract himself with work. Anything but think about the implications of what might just have happened.

Clarisse lay on the couch for a long time, trying to think it all through, and trying not to think at all. She felt cold all over, and thoroughly exhausted. Never before had she asked him to leave. She'd never had to. And she knew that he wouldn't come back now, not until she asked him. But did she want to? Her hands were still shaking as she raised herself up. Crossing over to the bathroom, she filled the basin and plunged them in. Looking up at the mirror she was struck by how old she looked. Her eyes were drawn and tired, her mouth slack. So very old. Splashing the hot water on her face she closed her eyes, desperately trying to warm herself. But, as she well knew, the room was not cold, the fire was roaring. It was she that had grown cold.

Slowly, she washed and changed, almost on automatic pilot. She stepped back into the sitting room and poured herself a cup of tea. As she held the delicate china cup to her lips, it slipped and she dropped it, watching it smash on the table. Her eyes flicked across to the other cup, presumably set out for Joseph. A single tear ran down her cheek as she grasped the seemingly innocent piece of china and hurled it across the room, smashing it against the wall. Pausing for a moment, she stared blankly at the broken shards decorating the carpet. She swallowed, blinking away the tears that filled her eyes. Automatically she moved to collect up the pieces. Once they were all placed in the bin she left the room, and returned to her vigil.

She sat at his side throughout the night, stroking his hand gently, never taking her eyes from his face. To apologise seemed pathetic, cowardly even. There were no words to excuse what she had done, what she had felt. He seemed so innocent lying there, his breathing shallow and laboured. She wished he would open his eyes for a moment, so she could tell him everything, but, as she brushed the tears from her cheeks, that would only be to soothe her own conscience. Even now she was thinking of her own selfish needs.

But he did not stir, and, at ten past five in the morning, the doctor who had been roused by the insistent bleep of the monitor, pronounced the King to be dead. Not looking at the Queen he had carefully unplugged and detached the drip and monitoring cables, uttered a respectful 'rest in peace' and left the room. For a long time she just sat there, silent, hardly moving. The palace was still and the sun was beginning to rise outside. The only sound came from the birds in the orchard. Eventually she stood and, stroking her hand down his cheek, kissed him chastely on the forehead.

"I'm sorry I wasn't a better wife…"

Whether she had whispered the words to his deaf ears or to her own wasn't clear, but in that pronouncement she decided that, for the sake of her country she must at least be the perfect Queen. Whatever that might mean.

In the darkened security control room he watched her in silence.

Two days later he received a message that she wished to see him. At five. In her office. She had never been that precise before, and it worried him. He had deliberately given her space after their argument, knowing full well that, in the cool light of day she would realise his concerns and the intention in which he'd meant them. Philippe had flown back from Brussels the day of his father's death, and she had spent the past couple of days with him, grieving out of the media spotlight, deciding what they would have to organise. And so Joe had done what he was best at, hid in the shadows, bowed out and waited. And now she wanted to see him.

At four-thirty, Clarisse finished the last paper of the papers she had to sign. She and Philippe had decided to share out royal duties between them, with her acting as reigning monarch until he was able to reduce his foreign commitments and return to Genovia for good. Of course, all this had been pre-planned by Rupert but, nonetheless, they had to finalise all the arrangements and sign all the documents for parliament to approve. Setting down her pen she sighed, rubbing her temples.

She was nervous and dreading Joseph's arrival. She had to be strong, she knew that…but she was afraid of how her body might betray her. If he touched her, pulled her to him, she knew she would be lost. He could tear her heart out and serve it to her on a plate and she would still love him more than life itself. But she couldn't. And the only way to make sure of this was to remember what he had done, the lies he had told, and to stay angry. To hold onto that pain and not to question why it was that his deception cut so deeply into her. To admit that was too dangerous.

He arrived at five on the dot, and knocked gently on the door.

"Come in"

Her voice was cool and without emotion. As he pushed the door open, he saw she was standing behind her desk, looking out over the garden. She was dressed all in black.

"Clarisse?"

She turned then, and the look in her eyes told him everything. Vacant.

"Did you ever plan on telling me?"

The question was a simple one, but he was unable to answer. He looked at her, desperately searching for some kind of connection. He ran a hand over his head nervously. He decided to tell her the truth.

"Yes, I did. The day I found out…but, but…I couldn't. I knew you would collapse under the knowledge, so I didn't tell you. It was easier…" He broke off, not knowing how to explain what had seemed so clear at the time. She turned away from him to look outside again.

"Did you really think that it would be as simple as that?"

He didn't reply, his eyes fixed on the back of her head as she scanned the lawns. Her hands were clenched tightly, he noticed, on the back of the chair behind her.

She took a breath to steady herself. She would be hurt later…now she could only be angry. He must not see her cry, not over this. This was not about tears.

"Do you realise what you have let me do? How you have humiliated me?"

She heard him shuffle a little, not leaving, but uncomfortable at staying. When he finally spoke his voice was flat, devoid of its usual resonance.

"I thought it was for the best"

She spun round, anger surging up in her again, this time too strong for her to repress,

"For who, for God's sake!?" She was nearly shouting now, her eyes filling with tears despite her best efforts, "For me? For him? First you speak about me as if I'm some kind of object, to be passed around discreetly, so long as I don't know…and then you let me lie to my husband, betray his trust in the worst possible way…and all the time, both of you knew! Can you even comprehend how that makes me feel?"

She steadied herself against the seat, desperately trying to recompose herself, brushing the treacherous teardrops away with her hand.

Joseph had been silent throughout. He felt sick to the core…this was all his fault, and he knew it. Never before had she spoken to him like that. God, he doubted if she'd ever spoken to anyone like that before. And he had deserved it. Damnit, if it made her feel better she could scream at him until she ran out of voice.

But he would not apologise. For all he had done, he had done it for her, for both of them. He had tried to protect her. One day she would realise that. If she couldn't realise that, then there was no hope.

She moved towards the couch, deliberately avoiding his reach, and sat down carefully, dropping her aching forehead into her hands. Without looking up, she continued, her voice thin and drained,

"You can leave now Joseph, I have nothing more to say to you."

He looked at her, broken by the events of the past few weeks and sighed. Cautiously he reached out a hand and laid it tenderly on her shoulder. She flinched a little at the unexpected touch, but did not shrug him off. Again her body betrayed her. But she didn't look up.

"Please, Joseph, just go"

He removed his hand and casting a regretful glance back, moved towards the study door. He paused, his fingers tracing the handle,

"I did it for us, Clarisse…because I love you. Nothing more."

And then he left. Once she had heard his footsteps disappear down the corridor, Clarisse stood and walked to the door herself. Closing it quietly she turned the key in the lock. Then, with a dignity that masked her shattered inner composure, she moved to the cabinet in the corner and retrieved a bottle of single malt. She poured herself a large glass and returned to the couch. Taking an uncharacteristically long gulp she grimaced as the strong liquor burnt her throat. She set the glass down on the table and, curling up in a ball, for the first time in her adult life, Clarisse Renaldi wept like a child.

A/N This one actually had me wondering if it was too depressing… ;o) Not that I'm having a bad week, or anything, honest!

OK, well this is the worst chapter over with, I promise. From this point, apart from a little blip over the whole proposal thing, nice things will start to happen again. Promise! Let me know what you think…


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Instinctively, Clarisse snuggled closer to Joseph, kissing his chest and smiling as his arm curled sleepily around her. She brushed a stray tear from her eye and sighed deeply. This was hard. Dredging up memories so meticulously suppressed for so very long. Even nearly two years on, remembering Rupert's last days made her tense and uncharacteristically emotional. And yet she had made her peace with him, and with herself. Over time, the feelings had shifted gradually from self-disgust and the most acute guilt to a bearable sense of regret. Not of her actions, but of the situation. She was not proud of how she had behaved, but she realised now that she could not honestly say that she would change what had happened, maybe only the way in which it unfolded. She had become the Queen she knew he would have been proud of. It was a difficult feeling to negotiate, but each day after his death it had become easier.

But with Joseph…she sighed, looking up at his relaxed face, tracing her finger along his collarbone… with Joseph it had taken longer. Much longer.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

After their meeting in her office, several weeks passed before Clarisse and Joseph found themselves alone in each other's company. She had taken care to busy herself with matters of state, throwing herself into the solitude that long hours of paperwork offered. She was almost unbearably lonely. With her husband dead and her sons away, she found herself alone in the large palace. She had avoided Joseph with a precision that even surprised herself. The staff were distant, seemingly struggling to know how to address her, and her 'friends' existed only in a whirlwind of parties to which she no longer felt the energy to attend. She felt as though she were vanishing.

Joseph, on the other hand, had been torn, as ever, between duty and his own sanity. It was his job to watch her, and yet it was clear that was the last thing she wanted. He spent hours in the security room, watching her work, hating himself for this self-induced torture, and yet unable to tear himself away from the screens. She was ever-present, imprinted on his mind, haunting his dreams.

They had met purely by chance. It was late, and Clarisse had wandered down to the music room to play the piano. She hadn't played for months, but tonight she had felt the urge. Opening the lid, she sat down carefully on the stool, flexing her fingers as she did so. Placing her hands on the keys, she was struck by their coolness. Closing her eyes, she began to play, the first movement of Images I by Debussy, one of her mother's favourite pieces. She practically knew the difficult piece backwards, and her fingers quickly relaxed and began coaxing the melody across the room and out into the deserted hallway. Her mind cleared and for a precious moment she lost herself in the liquid notes.

Joseph walked quietly down the various corridors of the palace, one by one switching out the lights. It was not his usual duty, but recently he had taken to performing it. At this time of the night there was no one to interrupt him, to question him…to expect him to give a damn. He turned and heard the faint sounds of the piano being played in the room at the far end of the corridor. The door was ajar and the light spilled out into the now darkened corridor. He was puzzled for a moment, and then grew irritated. The music was delicate and effortless, drifting out along the halls. And it threatened to break him. He growled, under his breath, making his way towards the door, in search of the culprit. Reaching it, however, he was transfixed by the sight that met his eyes. It was her, dressed in a pale blue silk dressing gown, her eyes shut, her fingers caressing the piano. For a moment he hesitated, unable to move, and yet painfully aware that he could not stay, must not stay. He too closed his eyes, and swallowing hard, fought back the pain he had been ignoring all week. Recomposing himself, he sighed inaudibly and gently pulled the door shut.

The music stopped. "Hello?"

He didn't reply, and wondered for a split second if he could make a run for it. Not a chance, and it would look so much worse. He placed a shaky hand back on the door and pushed it open a little.

Seeing the familiar silhouette, Clarisse started a little, but immediately checked herself. She nodded, and issued a curt "Good evening, Joseph"

He nodded back and, with equal restraint muttered "Your majesty". The disappointment in his eyes though was unmistakeable, and she felt her heart break a little more. She decided not to ask what he had been doing…it was best not to ask questions she couldn't bring herself to hear the answers to.

"I…"

"I…"

Their eyes met, and both smiled nervously, their bodies again betraying them. She nodded again, asking him to continue,

"I…I was wondering how you were." He stopped, the words suddenly seeming inadequate. He looked up at her again, and searched her eyes. She turned back to the piano and setting the lid down gently she sighed. How could she answer such a question? How could she even begin to describe how her world had rapidly disintegrated in the past few weeks to nothing? How she hated him for doing this to her, for the fact that in spite of it all the pain, indeed, because of it all, she knew that she would always love him? And yet how could she tell him that in spite of this she must not give in? He would never understand her reasons, she could not expect him to understand them…

"I'm fine"

He looked up, his mind chastising him for having even thought she might have said something else. She wouldn't even look at him. She was simply waiting for him to leave. He straightened out his jacket and turned to the door, pausing only to reply,

"Of course you are."

And then he was gone.

The moment he left, she turned to the door. He had closed it behind him. Folding her arms on the top of the piano, she laid her head down and sighed deeply. She wondered how long she could maintain this cool exterior, how long it would be before she broke in front of him. Perhaps she had been naïve in thinking she could do this? She rubbed the bridge of her nose, a headache once again beginning to form. But, she reminded herself, it was not a question of whether she could or couldn't do it…she had to.

Another three weeks went by without them hardly meeting. It was ironic. Before they had known each other's movements so intimately, precisely so they could steal those fleeting moments together…now they employed their knowledge in an elaborate dance of avoidance.

It was a Sunday evening, and Clarisse was reading in her private study. She was trying to learn Italian and had taken to spending her evenings reading, albeit very slowly, some of the classics. This particular evening, she'd started on Castiglione's Libro del Cortegiano, and was finding it rather difficult. With a sigh, she picked up the dictionary once again…

Glancing at her watch, she was slightly surprised by the soft knock on the door. She knew that Charlotte had already left and she doubted it was one of the maids.

"Come in"

He stepped into the room, somewhat gingerly, and it suddenly hit him that he hadn't set foot in her private suite since the night of Rupert's death.

"Good evening, your Majesty. I was wondering if you could spare me a minute?"

She eyed him cautiously, setting down her book and carefully marking the page. She decided not to stand, but to remain seated at her desk. Behind her desk. She gestured for him to sit down, which he did, with obvious unease.

"What can I do, Joseph?" Instantly she regretted her turn of phrase, and looked away from him, slipping off her glasses, rearranging the papers on her desk distractedly.

He cleared his throat and began,

"It's the Prince of Norway's visit, next week…we need to discuss the security arrangements. I'm afraid I won't be able to organise my staff until I have his itinerary."

"I see. Well, Charlotte should have everything finished by Monday afternoon. Will that be soon enough for you to make arrangements?"

He nodded, meeting her gaze for a moment, allowing himself a half-smile. Her eyes softened, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough.

"Was that all, Joseph?"

He snapped back to reality and nodded again. He stood, glancing down as he did so at the book on her desk. She reached for the dictionary…conversation over. He looked back to her face and swallowed,

"Good night, your Majesty."

He turned then, and moved towards the open door. Her voice made him stop,

"Joseph, do you happen to know what the words 'sempre' and 'medesimo' mean?"

He smiled to himself, and turned back, "The first means 'always', always and the second means 'the same'."

She looked up for a second, unable to avoid his eyes, and nodded.

"Thank you, Joseph…that will be all. Goodnight."

"Good night, your Majesty."

A/N OK, well it's getting slightly more cheery…at least they're not screaming at each other anymore! In the next instalment, Joe's going to come to some important decisions…it's not just going to be Clarisse who gets to pull all the strings in this non-relationship!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

The Norwegian prince's visit came and went and Clarisse had not seen Joseph for nearly two weeks. It was better this way, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. Frequently she caught herself wondering what he might be doing, where he might be hiding. Or perhaps he had moved on, and was simply doing his job. But, then again, she realised it now, Joseph had never simply been doing his job.

Finally after the weeks of chaos, her life was returning to some kind of routine. Her days were full and extremely tiring, with public engagements and mountains of paperwork. But, in spite of the momentary flash of annoyance every morning as she dragged her weary body out of bed at six, for this continual distraction she was thankful. In _doing_, she could avoid _thinking_ and, as she well knew, she already thought too much. Not seeing him every day helped. Of course, that didn't mean that she could put him from her mind, not at all, but at least she didn't have to guard herself from him.

Sitting in her office, scanning through applications for some of the minor security positions in the palace, she smiled at his annotations. Of course, his scribbling had not been really intended for her eyes, but, having decided to gain a better knowledge of the staff who worked for her, they were interesting…

Martin Anderson, 27, married (two kids – Anna and Craig); NB. _Second_ wife, don't mention the first; Craig likes stealing the mints in the entrance hall, Anna (5) has an imaginary friend called _Martha_, not Marcy.

She smiled, picturing the little girl's annoyance as he had presumably confused the name of her friend and his concern not to do it again.

Andrew Barton, 35, single – but v. fond of his nephew (Alex?) on his sister's side; Father died last year, Mother lives in Switzerland; excellent skier and makes homemade beer in one of the cellars (keep an eye on this)

Simon James, 29, partner called Guy…she raised an eyebrow…English, went to Eton and then Queens, Cambridge; former Interpol, breeds Dalmatians and idolises Clarisse. Obviously has excellent taste.

She blushed and brought a hand to her mouth. Enough. She shut the file and carefully replaced it with the others.

There was a knock at the door, and Charlotte entered with several more documents to be gone over.

"Not more…" she groaned, and then, recomposing herself and smiling at the young woman, "what have we got now?"

Charlotte smiled back, pleased that the Queen seemed in better spirits today.

"Security arrangements for the opening of the opera, the week after next. You need to approve the staff, your Majesty."

"Very well…let's have a look."

Clearing her desk a little, Charlotte laid out the various sheets of paper, and began to explain the order of events, and the numbers of guards at each point. Clarisse scanned the pages, noting that everything seemed to be in order, tracing her finger along the itinerary. Something wasn't quite right. They reached the last sheet and she picked up her pen to sign the arrangements, approving the extra personnel that would be drafted in that evening to cover the event. Then she stopped, suddenly realising the now glaring omission. She laid the pen down again.

"Charlotte, where is Joseph?" The younger woman looked confused.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand, your Majesty"

"He's not mentioned anywhere in the arrangements and, indeed, this isn't even his handwriting." She gestured to the sheets of paper scattered over the desk.

"I'm afraid he's still not back, your Majesty. I was going to call him this evening."

For a second Clarisse lost her composure, her head snapping up in surprise, her eyes clouded with confusion, and Charlotte saw everything. In a moment, she understood what had been confusing her for weeks, months even. Suddenly it all fell into place, Joe's terrible mood swings, his sudden decision to go, after waiting all those weeks, the Queen's despondency, her vacant expressions. The fact that she had barely seen them exchange a word in the weeks since King Rupert's death.

But the truth in the Queen's eyes vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, shifting flawlessly into only a mild puzzlement.

"Back, Charlotte? From where?"

Charlotte realised then that he must not have told her. That he must have simply left and planned to return without speaking a word. That poor man. She would call him tonight.

"He's in Spain, your Majesty. His mother has finally died, and he left last week to arrange the funeral and settle her affairs. I think he was planning on returning next week." She paused, not sure how much she should say. "I think he intends to be back for the opening of the opera, but he asked Simon to make arrangements in case he wasn't."

Clarisse stood and wandered over to the window, her throat tightening as she fought to retain her composure. She was reminded of the last time she had stared out of this window, of the anger he had brought out of her, of the pain she had caused them both. Only he made her react like that, only he could make her lose it like that… And now this.

"How long had his mother been sick, Charlotte?" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

"About four months, I think, your Majesty. He wouldn't speak about it much, but I think she had stomach cancer."

She closed her eyes and swallowed. All this time. Another thing he had kept from her.

"He didn't tell me, you know."

Charlotte heard her voice break a little, and watched sadly as the Queen visibly recomposed herself, squaring her shoulders, running a hand through her hair, still keeping her back turned. She had never seen her like this and wasn't quite sure how to react. She took a chance.

"I think he thought you had enough on your plate. He didn't tell anyone. I think only myself and the other guards knew. And maybe the King, though I'm not sure."

Clarisse couldn't turn round, she didn't want Charlotte to see the tears that were welling in her eyes. Instead, she tried to smile, to raise her voice a little,

"I see. Still, I wish he had… Do you have a number on which I could contact him?"

Charlotte hesitated, remembering the strict instructions Joe had given about contacting him. Only in an emergency, and not to give his number to anyone. She looked again at the Queen, who had turned now, and sat back down at the desk, her eyes obviously reddened.

"Yes, your Majesty, I will fetch it right away."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Joe had gone beyond exhaustion and was working on autopilot. The funeral over, he had spent the last week organising his mother's possessions, and it was beginning to take its toll.

She had been ill for so long, had suffered so much. They had known from the beginning that her cancer was incurable, and the doctors had been honest with her. The amazing woman that she was, she had retained a philosophical dignity right until the end, calling him every night, wanting to know what he had been doing, asking about Clarisse. Of course, she had known everything. His mother had been his only confident on that matter. But not in the curious, meddling way that other overbearing mothers might have been. She treated him as an equal, she always had, she understood him better than he ever could, and, more important than anything, she had understood the situation. Indeed, it was she who had encouraged him in the first place. He sighed, remembering her excitement when he had told her about buying the necklace for Clarisse…

All his other family gone, Joe regretted not having spent more time with his mother. He should have been with her these last few months, he realised that now. She should not have had to take second place, worthy only of her nightly phone call. He should have been here. Instead he had stayed with his Queen, desperate to help her. And look where that had got him.

The night before she had died, his mother had asked about Clarisse again. It had been a Saturday. She had suggested he try again, to give her another chance. He had tried to explain that he couldn't see the point. If she didn't understand why he had done what he had, she could not possibly see why it had been necessary. His mother had insisted. Although her voice was noticeably weaker than in previous conversations, her message had been firm. Give her another chance, and then accept it, and move on.

He smiled ruefully, remembering how he had gone to Clarisse's room the next evening, on some inane pretext of security arrangements. How she had cast him off again, only to call him back. Yes, it would always be the same…

Maybe his mother was right. Perhaps it was time to accept it. Perhaps if he started not to expect anything from her, he would learn not to want it? She had caused him so much pain, and he had given so much…maybe it was time to think of the duty he had to himself. He was Head of Security for one of Europe's oldest monarchies, he was one of the best. Perhaps it was time to just get on with the job.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Clarisse sat in her office, the scrap of paper with his number on glaring at her from the table. Since the morning it had been there, tempting her to call. And she still couldn't decide if she should. For who was she calling? To placate her own conscience, obviously; to make him come back, beyond doubt; to make him feel better…?

All day she had been trying to process his decision not to tell her. It simply didn't make sense. She could have supported him; he could have gone to visit his mother; he could have taken time off to grieve. Why had he left it so late to go? She went to pour herself a drink and remembered bitterly his parting words from that evening they had argued…she had argued,

"I did it for us, Clarisse…because I love you. Nothing more."

Had it really been all to protect her? Was that why he had stayed? Charlotte had certainly implied as much. She felt sick to the core. Suddenly the iron wall that she had so meticulously built threatened to shatter. How could she hate him when he had already done so much? For the first time in months, she allowed herself to wonder if he had been right not to tell her about Rupert.

No…he had not been right. But perhaps this was not a game of right and wrong. By making him wrong she had not become more right. Far from it. As he had told her so many times, it had been what it had been. They had both known that. And would she have done anything different? In his place, would she have told him? Yes, she would, but, she was forced to admit, it would not have been because of her honesty. It would have been because of her inability to bear it alone. For how long had he borne it alone?

But what did this all mean? What _could_ it mean? She didn't know anymore. Her obligations were unchanged, and the field of play had shifted. No longer was she merely the King's consort, but a ruler in her own right, a figurehead. Her motives for freezing him out might have just thawed, but they could not return to before. It was simply too dangerous, for both of them.

She picked up the phone, and carefully dialed the number. It rang several times and then clicked through to the voicemail. She closed her eyes as his deep voice spoke the message calmly in Spanish, only to be startled back to herself by the harsh beep. She swallowed, suddenly aware of the fact she had no idea what to say,

"Um…Joseph…it's Clarisse." She paused, wondering how much to tell him. "I know, Joseph…Charlotte told me everything. I…I'm sorry. Take care of yourself… I", she paused again, "I think I…please come and see me when you're back." She hung up, annoyed with herself for sounding so incoherent. Sighing, though, she doubted whether she could have done any better even with a lifetime to prepare…


	16. Chapter Sixteen

It was beginning to grow dark as Joe mounted the steps of the express train at Madrid station. Hoisting his rucksack onto the baggage rack, he quickly found his place and slumped down heavily in the cool leather seat. The air in the station was thick with the heady notes of summer, the hotdogs being sold on the concourse, all mixed with the thick smell of diesel, and his head was beginning to spin. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He had spent the day finalising the shipment of his mother's possessions, the small sentimental items he couldn't bring himself to part with, back to the palace. He still had no idea where he would store them, but quite frankly, he didn't have the energy to think it through now.

He opened his eyes again, and looked out of the carriage window. Crowds of families seeing each other off. A particularly large woman was holding an extremely embarrassed-looking young man tightly to her bosom. He smiled, and then, looking down at his hands, couldn't help but feel his own mother's arms around him again. He sighed, wondering when it would start to get easier, and yet half hoping that he would always feel her presence so closely.

An hour into the journey, they stopped at some provincial town, waking him from the fitful sleep he had been enjoying. A young couple installed themselves in the seats opposite him: he raised the armrest to the upright position, and she curling up on the seat, falling easily back into his arms. Joe smiled, meeting the young man's eye and nodding a greeting. The young man smiled back and looked out of the window. Soon, both were asleep. In spite of the peace, however, Joe couldn't relax. He couldn't help but watch them, snuggled together, so open and so at ease. He noticed the engagement ring on the girl's finger, and his throat tightened a little. Looking away, out into the now pitch-black countryside, he felt a solitary tear run down his cheek. Whatever happened in his life, he knew now that he would never feel such youthful comfort, enjoy such peace. And it was a bitter pill to swallow.

Just after midnight, he arrived back at the palace. As he had hoped, no one greeted him at the door, and, as he prepared himself a quick sandwich in the kitchen, it seemed that no one was even up. His dinner complete, he grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and made his way back to his room. It was a long walk. The events of the past weeks came flooding back and, as he passed her door, for a moment he faltered. There were no guards on duty, a practice he knew she disliked and had obviously discarded in his absence, and for a moment his hand found its way to the knob. He closed his eyes, and his thumb danced over the polished brass. He swallowed, suddenly aware that his heart was racing. Her light was still on and the light was spilling out underneath the door.

A telephone rang, and he jumped, his hand flying off the handle, like a naughty child caught by the cookie jar. After a few rings she picked up, her crystal voice floating out into the corridor,

"Yes, darling, how are you?"

Pierre. It would have to be at this time.

"No, of course not. I'm fine…just fine. I just couldn't sleep." She paused, and he heard her getting up from her desk…so she'd been working until now?…and presumably sitting down on the couch.

"Really, sweetheart, it's nothing…I just miss your father, that's all."

He sighed, and stepped back from the door. He must be strong. Squaring his shoulders, he turned and moved purposefully in the direction of his own room. Not looking back, not allowing himself the luxurious torture. He could not have seen Charlotte in the shadows.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

(Present)

Joe woke to find the sun streaming through the windows, filling the whole room with light. He yawned quietly, concerned not to waken the now-familiar weight lying against his chest. She shifted a little, draping an arm over his waist, but then settled again. He smiled, glancing over at the clock. Damn. Nearly seven. He should really be moving by now…they would be wondering where he was in the security room if he hadn't installed himself in his office by eight. Gently, he ran a hand down her back and pulled her closer to him. This was still all so new and yet wonderfully, indescribably familiar. It was in these moments that he found it hard to believe he wasn't still asleep and dreaming. He wondered how he could ever have thought he might be happy without her, without this.

Opening his eyes again and looking down, he realised that he was not the only one awake.

"Sleep well?" She nodded, rubbing her face against his chest.

"I don't want to go to work today…" He smiled, running a hand through her hair.

"I don't think you have a choice my darling, I don't think we can expect Mia to run the show on her own just yet. Just imagine the laws she might think up…"

Clarisse chuckled, shaking her head. Sitting up, she dropped a kiss to his forehead, raising an eyebrow as he continued, trying to pull her back down.

"On the other hand…I _can_ see certain advantages of letting her have a bit of work-experience…" He slid his hand down her back and began to stroke big circles.

She sat back up again and flashing him an attempt at a stern glare, disentangled herself from his arms. He sighed, sinking back into the pillow, quickly running through the list of things he would have to do today,

"Hmm…I suppose you're right. As usual." He pouted a little as he admitted it.

She smiled and, tapping him playfully on the nose, got out of bed and made her way to the bathroom.

Leaving Clarisse to her morning routine, Joe crept back to his own room. He would see her later…and it didn't do too much good becoming so accustomed to their waking up together. Even though she had been pleased to see him last night, he knew that they couldn't really continue like this. Mia or Charlotte was bound to walk in sometime soon, and he seriously wondered how much the security guards would be able to piece together if they only thought about it. At the back of his mind, a niggling voice began again, 'It's not as if you're having an affair anymore"…he sighed. But he was, wasn't he? Only this time he was rivalling a whole country for her affections. He wanted to marry her, to take her hand in his before them all, to break free of this past littered with deception, he knew that now. He only had to wait for the right moment now to ask her. He smiled ruefully, waiting, again. But this time it would be worth it.

Clarisse was a little disappointed if unsurprised to find him gone when she came back into the bedroom. As much as she would have liked him to kiss her goodbye, it was probably better like this. They were not in San Francisco anymore and, whilst she could be reasonably certain that Charlotte knew enough to not disturb her, the maids were unlikely to be so careful. She sighed, running a hand through her still damp hair. If only it were simpler. She longed for the moment when they might be able to love each other honestly, without this continual smokescreen. But not yet. First she must take care of Amelia, and their country. Then…? Yes then. She hardly dared allow herself to ponder what 'then' might bring, but it would be theirs. Finally.

She met Amelia for breakfast on the terrace and was immediately struck by her charming manner with the servants. The girl was so distracted by the various activities going on in the garden, and Clarisse took the opportunity to watch her granddaughter.

"You really are learning very fast, my dear. I'm extremely proud of you."

Mia smiled, almost knocking her teacup over, but executing a masterful save just before it toppled. The only hint of anything amiss was the slight clink of china. Clarisse smiled, and bit back a smile.

"Thanks, Grandma. I'm trying really hard. I even managed to remember all the names of the rooms in the guest part of the palace this morning…I took a walk around them before breakfast…I was too excited to sleep any more and couldn't find the breakfast, so went for a wander."

Clarisse raised an eyebrow, but nodded for her to continue.

"Which rooms did you like best?"

"The Emerald one, most definitely…it's the nicest by far, especially the view out over the garden. You can even see the lake at the bottom. And the curtains are amazing."

She paused to draw breath and noticed a smile playing on Clarisse's lips.

"What? Did I miss something?"

"No, not at all my dear. It's just that that's my favourite room too…and I designed the décor. I'm glad you approve."

"Really! It's awesome, Grandma, you're really talented! "

"Hmm…I don't know about that. Anyway, what are your plans for this morning?"

She'd already decided that Amelia would be allowed several days to settle into the palace and the daily routine before immersing her in any official duties or lessons.

"I'm going riding, and then I'm having a tour round the palace with Joe and then this evening you are cordially invited to watch films with me. But don't worry if you're too busy… I mean…"

She faltered a little, and Clarisse reached out across the table and took her hand. Giving little squeeze, she smiled warmly.

"I'll have to work for a bit, but I promise that I'll make at least one film."

Mia sprung up and gave a rather unladylike "Woohoo!" before kissing Clarisse on the cheek, spinning round and walking a little more sedately back inside.

Watching her saunter back into the palace, Clarisse couldn't help but shake her head and chuckle discreetly. She was doing well, better than Clarisse had anticipated. Apparently she had spent an hour on the phone with her mother then night before, but that was probably a good thing. She made a mental note to self to try and take the entire evening off, and keep her company.

Her eyes drifted up, surveying the beautiful façade of the palace. The Emerald room. Fancy her chancing on that little jewel so quickly. It had been months since she'd last been up there…in fact, she struggled to remember the…hmm…

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Of course, she did remember…it was the morning of Joseph's return. Charlotte had told her that he was back when she had brought in the morning letters, and she had them waited all morning for him to make an appearance.

But he hadn't come, and by lunchtime she was getting quite restless. She decided to take a walk and, wanting a little privacy, had found herself up in the Emerald room, looking out over the expansive gardens.

Although it was only just after one, clouds were filling the sky and the light was dimming. The air was tense, it had been for days, and was heavy with humidity. She placed her hands on the sill of the open window and leant against it. A slight breeze touched her face, and she looked again at the dark clouds drifting over the sun.

There was a restrained cough behind her, and she turned slowly, already knowing who it was. He looked different…tired, his eyes heavy… and something else. Distant.

She shivered a little, feeling the breeze caressing her back.

"Joseph…" She didn't know where to begin, or what she should say. She looked up at him and their eyes met. She glanced down and saw that his hands, hanging down in front of his were shaking slightly. He caught them behind his back, and squared his shoulders.

"I'm sorry Joseph, I didn't know…I wish I had known. I'm…I'm so very very sorry. If there's anything I…" She cut herself short, realising again that she was babbling.

He caught her eye again and nodded. "It's ok, your Majesty. It's over now. I appreciate your concern."

She nodded, wrong-footed by his formality. She didn't understand…his eyes were almost glazed over, his voice empty. The almost uncontrollable physical urge to rush over to him and wrap him in her arms, pressing her lips to his, tasting him again coursed through her, overwhelming her for a moment.

But of course she didn't. Stepping unconsciously back a step, she wrapped her arms about her.

"Charlotte told me that you needed to see me"

Her eyes flicked up and for a moment she could have sworn he read her mind. Did Charlotte know? Her mind processed it quickly…and, without knowing it, they arrived at the same conclusion. Probably.

"Not exactly. I _wanted_ to see you…to make sure you were alright."

"I am."

"Good." She twisted her hands nervously, playing with the wedding ring still on her finger.

"May I go now?"

She nodded, and, with a final glance, he left. Sure that he had gone, she turned back to the window and felt the first spots of rain flick over her face. A loud crash of thunder echoed across the valley, and the light shower intensified into a heavy downpour. She stretched out of the window and felt the water drenching her hair and dripping down over her face. Mixing guiltily with the hidden tears that she knew she shouldn't be crying.

A/N Oooh….it's all getting interesting now! Next chapter will include Clarisse getting increasingly confused (in the past) and watching some thought-provoking movies in the present. Might even get it up by tomorrow… Please review if you've got a moment ;o)


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Somehow she had made it back to her suite unnoticed. The tears had stopped, but her eyes were puffy and her throat sore. As she closed the door to her private rooms, she turned the key behind her. Philippe was due in three hours and there was no way she could face him in this state. She wandered through to the bedroom, peeling off her damp jacket and draping it over the back of a seat. As she reached the bathroom, she removed the rest of her clothes and wrapped herself in one of the oversize towels that were warming on the radiator. Running the bath, she stepped over to look at herself in the mirror. As the steam rose of the bath, her face seemed to fade away, vanishing almost. If only it were that simple.

She lay for a long time in the water, closing her eyes, drifting in the memories. The storm was still crashing around outside and it was intruding into her relaxation. She had been shocked by the raw physical need she had felt in his presence, the way her hands had shaken, how her mouth had grown dry. Yes, she had always been attracted to him, had always felt at home in his arms, but now there was an almost desperate need to hold him. And yet he had been so cold, so formal. Was he playing her at her own game? Teaching him a lesson? She thought not.

Opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling, she chided herself for reacting this way. Of course, he was doing his job. He was behaving as she had wanted. Indeed, he was behaving as she should be. Suddenly, for the first time since Rupert's death she realised that she might never hold him again. A single tear crept down her cheek. Dignified and stoic. She must be strong now, to not make this harder than it already was. Perhaps one day they might be friends. But for now she must learn to cope without him.

The distance between them continued to grow over the next two weeks. Philippe arrived as arranged and quickly decided that his mother was looking run-down and in need of his company. He cancelled a tour of South Africa and settled to stay in the palace for a month. He didn't explicitly tell Clarisse why he had decided to stay, but she was shrewd enough to make a guess.

A few weeks into his stay, she was up late, in her study, looking over some draft amendments to the constitution relating to Philippe's assumption of the throne. She had lost track of time and had missed dinner again. Her absence had been noted and, having finished his book, Philippe decided to go and see if she was still working. To his mild disappointment, she was.

"Mother?" He poked his head round the study door and raised an eyebrow at the scattered papers littering the desk.

She smiled, slipping her glasses off and setting them down.

"Hello darling." She paused, and then, looking down slightly guiltily to the papers,

"I missed dinner, didn't I?"

He came into the room and shut the door behind him. Moving over to the desk, he crouched down a little and draped a comforting arm around her shoulders. He wasn't one for overblown emotional gestures, but she looked very much like she was in need of a hug.

"Is everything alright?" He paused, looking up at her, gently rubbing her shoulder, "And I mean really…"

She sighed and attempted a smile, turning slightly to kiss his cheek. "Yes, darling, I'm fine." He didn't look convinced, so she continued. "All the better for having you here."

He smiled and rose again, eyeing her a little suspiciously. "I don't believe you…but I understand if you don't want to tell me. I just…"

"I know"

He wandered over to the leather sofa and sat down, her eyes following him all the way.

"I am alright, Philippe, I promise. I'm just a little blue… I'm sure it will pass."

He smiled, pleased to see the twinkle in her eye returning a little. He knew there was something up, but he decided not to push it. He'd just ask Charlotte in the morning.

In the meantime, Joe had managed to settle back reasonably painlessly into the routine of the palace. To be honest, after the chaos of Spain and the continual need to make arrangements, the regularity of shift work came as a welcome relief. Some days he even managed a smile.

The day after his return he had spoken with Charlotte, and from then on they had become much closer as friends. It was strange, although he had seen much more of her before Rupert's death, it was only now that he had felt really able to talk openly with her. Of course, he never mentioned Clarisse but, now there was nothing really to mention, the not-mentioning it became easier. He hardly saw the Queen, in fact, taking care to arrange his shifts to coincide with when she had appointments. Naturally, he was painfully aware of the irony that, in spite of him avoiding her, it was precisely according to her that he structured his life, but never mind.

Since their awkward conversation in the Emerald room she had not called on him once. He had to admit that that had hurt but, again, perhaps it was for the best. At least she now understood where he stood. And it wasn't at arm's length behind her, for once.

So the days went by quite easily… without the thrill of her touch he could avoid the inevitable getting burnt. It seemed for the moment the best he could expect. But the nights, the nights were harder. No matter how much he could train his body to behave according to his will, his unconscious mind refused any such regime. Sometimes he would dream of her lying beside him, almost feeling her curled around his body; other times he would suffer terrible nightmares, as she left him, bleeding on the ground, laughing all the time at his pain. Regardless of the dream though, the result was the same…waking up with tears streaming down his face. A grown man reduced to a little boy, and he hated it. No, sleep did not come easily for him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Clarisse was sitting in her office, working on a letter to the French PM when Joe wandered in at five. She glanced up and smiled, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she did so.

"Am I disturbing?" She glanced behind him into the open corridor and, seeing it was clear, motioned for him to close the door.

"Not at all. In fact, I was just about stuck with this one…" She rubbed her temples, trying to dispel the tension.

Joe sighed, wondering if she'd ever learn to take a break, and wandered over to stand behind her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. Starting to massage them gently, he dropped a quick kiss to her head.

"My, my…you are tense. What is so difficult about this particular one?"

She smiled, immediately relaxing under his firm touch.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Try me…"

"OK, you asked for it…it's a letter to the French PM, outlining the objections I have regarding their policy on diplomatic immunity and extradition of foreign citizens. Apparently there is a French national, guilty of murder in Genovia who subsequently was captured in Paris. It's a matter of politics where the trial should take place and parliament have asked me to intervene….see, not exactly fascinating…"

He smiled, tracing his thumbs down her bare neck,

"To the contrary my darling, I think it's quite interesting…."

She turned to look at him, somewhat surprised with his reaction. Suddenly, she glanced at her watch. 5.15. Excellent.

"Joseph, can you go and lock the door, please?"

Now it was his turn to be surprised.

A/N Sorry it's a bit shorter than usual but, once again, I've ended up splitting a chapter so I can submit something now and have more of a think about the end part. The rest should be up tomorrow. Btw, Clarisse's suggestion at the end is SO not what you think… ;o) Please review! Fank you!


	18. Chapter Eighteen

_Just to avoid any confusion, this scene is set in the 'present' – that is, just after Clarisse and the whole group return to Genovia after PD1…and remember, I'm running the two films together so things will move quicker than you perhaps expect! Also, given the chunk I've borrowed from the film, 'Elizabeth' obviously does not belong to me…I'm just playing with it for a bit. Sue me and you'll get nothing more than books and handbags_

Raising an eyebrow curiously, Joe nodded and casually wandered over to the door, twisting the key in the lock. When he turned, he noticed that she had moved out from behind the desk and, scooping up the large file of papers in her arm, was making her way towards the leather couch. Still not sure where this was going, he watched her sit down with a heavy sigh and carefully arrange the various documents and notes on the low coffee table in front of her. Turning then to smile at him, she patted the seat next to her.

Bemused, he sauntered over and flopped down, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

"Well?"

She smiled, obviously enjoying his confusion, and nodded towards the pile of papers.

"Would you help me?"

He met her gaze and she was pleased to see a mixture of surprise and appreciation of what she was asking him. She had never been one to share her responsibilities lightly, often working herself into the ground rather than risk the slipshod work of somebody else.

"Really?"

"Really. Would you mind?"

She was less certain now, he could hear it in her voice. She wondered for a moment if she'd pushed it too fast. He saw her concern and quickly took her hand and pressed it to his lips, reassuring her.

"Of course…I…I'd love it."

She smiled, running a hand down his cheek.

"Thank you."

He relaxed back into the couch as she began to shuffle the papers again, obviously looking for something specific to start with. He placed a hand on her back, caressing her lazily.

"So…darling…you made me lock the door for um…paperwork?" He pretended to be miffed and attempted a pout. Glancing sympathetically at him, she shifted back a little, and for a moment, came to rest against his arm, curling into his chest. He sighed, strategically placing a kiss on her left temple,

"Hmm…I suppose paperwork might have its advantages, though"

She chuckled and began to sit up. Reaching across to the pile, she picked up the sheet she had been looking for. To his pleasant surprise, though, she then sat back against him, letting his arm fall around her once more. Relaxing into his chest, as he casually stroked his fingers through her hair, she began to read him the first memo.

They sat like that for nearly two hours, painstakingly going through the finer points of the situation, reviewing it from all angles. For most it would have been a terribly dull task, but they were both thoroughly enjoying themselves. Clarisse was lying on the couch, her head resting in Joe's lap, his feet were still propped on the coffee table, reading glasses slipping endearingly down his nose. They had thrashed their way through the main arguments and Clarisse was genuinely impressed with his clear ability to see things from both sides. With his help she now felt confident that her position was clear and well-founded. She looked up at him as he read the final pages of the foreign attachés report. This she could get used to…this sense of partnership, of shared responsibility. He was the only one who could see her truly as an equal, he could see _her_ when everyone else simply saw her title. With him she could still work like this, still be a queen, and yet know that he saw more. It had taken years for this…but then again, it couldn't have happened any other way.

Little by little she could feel them growing closer, each still careful and cautious, each moment rebuilding themselves from within. Losing this was unthinkable, she realised that now. Whatever happened, and something would happen sooner or later, she would do everything in her power to keep him by her side. She could not shut him out again, she simply wouldn't be able to bear it.

She raised a hand to stroke his cheek, her heart flipping a little when he tilted his head absent-mindedly to kiss her palm.

"Thank you for helping me, my darling."

He smiled, this time looking down at her and slipping off his glasses.

"Thank you for letting me."

She nodded, and, placing the report on the table, he slipped an arm under her shoulders and lifted her towards him. Kissing her delicately on the lips he smiled, whispering softly, "I want to stay like this forever…" She smiled too and, looping her arms around his neck, kissed him properly.

The shrill ring of the telephone made them both jump a little. Laughing at themselves, Clarisse leant over to answer. Joe stretched back in the couch, sorry at the intrusion, but resigned to its eventual inevitability.

"Yes Charlotte, that's fine…no, I've nearly finished it actually" she looked at Joe and winked, "I know…but it turned out to be far more interesting than I had first thought. I'll get the draft done by tomorrow." She stretched out her neck and winced a little at the stiffness. Joe's hand soon snaked over to massage it better and she smiled to herself. Mmm…this she could definitely grow accustomed to. "No, Charlotte, I've not forgotten. I was thinking, if I could arrange for dinner at 7.30, then I'll be free to join in with the film at about 9…really?…do you think she's alright?…Good. That's what I hoped….Indeed, I believe Joseph conducted a tour this afternoon…I'm not sure, I haven't had a chance to ask him yet….really?….hmm….no idea. Try the security room?…Thank you, Charlotte. Have a pleasant evening yourself."

She hung up then, and groaned loudly,

"I'm sure she's got it figured out, you know…"

He continued his slow massage, as much to comfort as to ease her muscles,

"I know…I think so too. But she's not said anything. What do you want to do about it?"

"The usual…pretend that I haven't noticed."

He smiled, and once again she relaxed back against him, eager to steal just a few more moments before she had to unlock the door and prepare for dinner.

By 7.45, Mia was nearly finished with her dinner. Clarisse still couldn't understand how that girl could eat so fast. It was really quite an art to behold…she wasn't messy, and had learnt almost immediately the various points of etiquette that should govern her use of cutlery and the like…it was just that she seemed to manage it in half the time that would be seemly. She smiled, remembering the way she had always had to tell Philippe off for eating too quickly.

"Grandma?"

"Yes, Amelia?"

"Oh nothing…you just looked kinda spaced out. Are you alright?"

Clarisse smiled, and considered for a moment whether she should share the thought,

"I was thinking how much you act like your father at mealtimes…he could never take his time either."

Mia smiled and met Clarisse's eyes. Poor Grandma. It suddenly hit her how hard it must be to have a living, breathing miniature of her son wandering round the palace. Did it upset her? Mia wanted so much to know about her father, and all his little habits and interests, but could she really ask? She bit her lip, and immediately Clarisse noticed her indecision. Maybe she had misjudged telling Amelia?

"Amelia?"

"Can I ask you something Grandma?" She played with her fork a little, obviously nervous.

"Of course, you know that. What would you like to know?"

"What was my father really like? Did he like pizza? Did he like sci-fi movies? What was his favourite Christmas present ever?"

Clarisse smiled, and tried to ignore the lump that was forming involuntarily in her throat. She set her knife and fork down and folded her hands under her chin, resting her elbows on the table, and sighed.

"I wondered when you might ask all those kinds of questions…"

"Do you mind, Grandma?"

She shook her head, watching her granddaughter closely. This was going to be difficult, but she had a right to know. Clarisse couldn't remember the last time, apart from with Joseph, when she had spoken about Philippe in any detail. And even with Joseph, it was never about these kind of things.

But of course they were not forgotten.

"Of course I don't, my dear. I…I want to tell you about him, I've wanted to for a long time. But you must forgive me if, if I find it a little difficult."

Mia smiled, and got up from her place at the table. All the serving staff had left long before, and now it was just the two of them. She came to crouch by Clarisse and gently placed an arm round her shoulders. It still felt a little strange, but she didn't flinch as perhaps she might have done a month ago.

"It's okay, Grandma, I understand. That's why I haven't asked before. I never met my father…all these things are new and interesting. They don't have any memories attached…I'm just making new ones. I don't want to upset you."

Clarisse smiled, and wrapped her own arm around Mia's waist, pulling her a bit closer.

"You really _are_ a smart little lady aren't you? I'm fine…I promise." She eased away from the girl's embrace and, picking up her fork again, shot her a mischievous glare,

"Just let me finish my chocolate mousse and then we can talk. Tea in my sitting-room in ten minutes?"

Mia nodded enthusiastically, and, pleased to see her grandmother looking happier, raced off to go and choose the movie for later.

As Clarisse finished the last of her dessert, she gazed absent-mindedly at the family portrait hanging at the far end of the room. He couldn't have been more than fifteen when that one was painted. She set the fork down and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She decided there and then that eventually Amelia must know everything, even the details surrounding his death. Not yet, but one day.

Sighing, she suddenly realised how cold she was, and stood up. Rubbing her hands briskly up and down her upper arms, she wished for a moment that Joseph was there to hold her. More and more frequently, this thought occurred to her these days, always leaving her a little confused as to her sudden emotional need. She hoped he would come and see her later.

In the warmth of her sitting-room, Clarisse and Mia talked for nearly an hour. As it turned out, Mia's questions were mainly factual, wanting to know his favourite foods, his music tastes, whether he preferred cats or dogs. All trivial, reasonably safe things. Clarisse answered patiently, often surprising herself with the depth of her memory and her ability to recall the most random details. Only once did Mia ask about something deeper, something that inadvertently touched a nerve.

"Did Dad get on with Pierre? I mean, I know that sounds weird, but some people really don't get on with their siblings…"

For a moment, Clarisse was surprised at the question, but then her face grew sad as she remembered the day the two boys had built themselves a den in one of the oak trees by the lake. They had worked on it all morning and afternoon, not even arriving for dinner. That was when Clarisse had grown concerned, sending Joseph out to find them. Eventually he had returned, a ten-year old Pierre wandering sleepily along beside him, and a seven-year old Philippe curled up and dreaming in Joseph's arms.

It was nothing, just a memory, but it brought it all back. Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked, smiling at Amelia.

"Yes, darling, they were the best of friends. Until they discovered girls at least…" She smiled, wiping the stray tears from her cheeks. Mia looked up and she decided that perhaps she had asked enough. Shifting along the couch to sit beside her, she wrapped her arms around her grandmother and hugged her tightly.

"Thank you, Grandma. You've made him real for me…"

"I know…it just brings it all back."

Mia smiled, and rubbed her back soothingly, deciding a change of subject might be in order,

"Now…are you going to come and watch this movie, or am I going to have to prise you from your work by force?"

As it turned out, Clarisse did actually manage to get half an hour of reading in before the film began, and successfully finished off her (and Joseph's, she reminded herself with a smile) notes on the French issue.

At nine, she tidied her desk and locked away the confidential file in the safe. Clicking off the light, she made her way to Amelia's suite. As she reached the door, however, a small note with her name neatly written on the front greeted her,

_'Grandma,_

_I just heard that we have a film-room! Why didn't you mention it before – it's awesome! Hope you don't mind, but I'm setting up down there. See you soon,_

_Mia.xx'_

She smiled and shook her head…honestly, that girl. And there she had been all concerned about her settling in at the palace. Turning, she walked back along the corridor and down the stairs to the screening room.

Mia had already set the room up and was lounging in a huge comfy chair at the front, an enormous bowl of popcorn on her lap and several cans of Coke at her feet. Her face lit up as Clarisse entered the room.

"Grandma…you came! On time!" She looked at her watch, "Well, as good as…"

Clarisse merely chuckled and faked a disapproving look.

"A Queen is never late, everyone else is simply early, my dear…"

She glanced at the seating arrangements, and then up at the screen.

"Amelia, do you mind if I don't sit next to you? I'm rather long-sighted and I don't think sitting so close to the screen would be a pleasant experience. Would you mind if I sit at the back?"

Mia shrugged and opened a can of Coke.

"No, of course not…though you'll have to miss out on the popcorn if you do…"

"I think I'll probably survive…"

As the lights were turned off, the film began. Clarisse raised an eyebrow at the choice…_Elizabeth_. The opening scenes were powerful, with the execution of several heretics under the reign of Mary Tudor, and for a moment she wondered whether Amelia had made a mistake. Peering at her in the darkness, though, she could see her settling into the her seat, happily munching away.

The film went on, and Clarisse became increasingly absorbed in the plot. Of course, she knew well the actual history of Elizabeth I and the rumours surrounding her love for Sir Robert Dudley, but this was different. Yes, the script most definitely had departed from historical fact, but the results were compelling.

The young princess became Queen, and her young lover, Dudley, suffered terribly. All of England pressed her to marry, but she refused. They threatened her, but she refused again. He became a senior figure at her court, and spent his nights in her chamber, but the rumours put a stop to that. Sometimes she favoured him, other times she simply ignored him.

A French representation arrived, and a wonderful party was held on the Thames, all in small gondolier-style boats. She lay in his arms, and he whispered in her ear,

"_Marry me_"; she smiled, and replied coyly, "_On a night such as this, could any woman say no?_"; he took her hand, and met her gaze, "_On a night such as this could a queen say no_?". She smiled, and kissing his hand, "_Does a queen not sit under the same stars as any other woman?"_

Clarisse smiled ruefully to herself. They may very well be the same stars, but sometimes it is necessary to keep one's eyes shut. She hadn't thought of marriage for such a long time…she shook her head, aware of the risky path that train of thought was following.

The plot thickened and the young queen rejected her lover, pushing him away. In desperation he joined the Spanish to seek her hand in marriage for their King, trying anything to be close to her. The words of the Spanish ambassador rang in Clarisse's ears, "_What would a man not do for love?"_

And so it continued, and the man betrayed her, committing treason. By the time the film reached the final scene between them, Clarisse could feel her eyes growing moist.

"_Just tell me why_." The young Elizabeth was cold, detached. Hardened to him, ruthless in the denial of her unmistakable love.

"_Why? Madam, is it not perfectly plain to you? It is no easy thing to be loved by the queen. It would corrupt the soul of any man."_ A broken man, preferring death to life without her.

Clarisse felt a hand on her shoulder in the darkness, and almost cried out. A kiss was pressed against her temple and he perched himself on the arm of the chair.

"Are you alright, my darling?" He whispered it so softly that she almost couldn't hear him. She glanced at Amelia who was still engrossed in the film. She didn't know how long he'd been there, and self-consciously brushed away the tears from her cheeks. She felt his arm wrap firmly around her. Nodding, she took his hand and motioned towards the small projection room. He smiled in the darkness, and helped her up, placing his hand at the small of her back, guiding her towards the door.

As he closed it behind them, she quickly turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. From the dampness growing on his shirt, he could tell she was still crying and he pulled her closer, stroking her hair. Not since that night when Philippe had died had she cried like this, and it worried him. As her sobs subsided, he eased back a little and, taking her face gently between his hands raised her up to look at him.

"Why did you never leave Joseph, why did you never hate me?" Her eyes were sparkling with tears and for a moment he lost himself in them. He smiled, then, kissing her forehead, murmuring against her hair,

"Because, my love, no matter what happened, I never wanted to…"

_A/N Hope you liked this chapter better! I've kept it all in the same period, so as to let some of you catch up with my shifting all over the place! Next time, though, will probably be the most difficult chapter of all, at least in terms of depressive-ness. Seen mainly from Joe's perspective, it will be on the events surrounding Philippe's death. So, good times ahead then…hmmm.., Will be happier though eventually! _


	19. Chapter Nineteen

He held her for a long time, still unsure of what he should say. She seemed to be calming now, but her outburst had unsettled him. He had only caught the last few moments of the film and, whilst he could see the potential similarities in circumstance, he really didn't understand why she had fallen to pieces so easily. She was most probably still tired from the journey. Stroking her back gently, feeling her warm breath against his neck as she relaxed, he decided not to ask any more just now. He had a feeling that this conversation was one that should be had when they could be sure of privacy…not when they were huddled in a darkened projection room, less that ten paces from the future Queen of Genovia.

Whether by some strange telepathy, or simply coincidence, the same realisation struck Clarisse, and she started to move back slightly. Running his hands from her shoulders down her arms, he smiled and stepped back too. Clasping her hands in his own, he took the opportunity to scrutinise her face,

"Is everything alright now?" He chose his words carefully, not wanting to tear down the delicate composure she had spent the past five minutes so carefully constructing.

She smiled and, closing her eyes, nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Yes. I…" she reached up and placed a hand carefully on his chest, subconsciously reducing the gap between them once again, "I'm sorry."

He glanced at the wet patch on his shirt, and the rather conspicuous mascara stains, and grinned.

"It's okay, I'm sure a good scrub will sort it out…I mean" shooting her a cheeky glance, "it's not as if I've anything better to do tonight."

She smiled, but, looking up from the stained shirt to his eyes, grew serious, and for a moment he feared she might cry again. She took a deep breath and sighed, her voice still a little shaky.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

In a moment, he had narrowed the space between them, and, taking her cheek in his palm, kissed her slowly and deliberately.

As they broke apart, she looked in the direction of the screen, and seeing that the film had now ended, began to carefully wipe the stains that she knew would inevitably smudged under her eyes. Understanding, Joe smiled, and, licking his thumb, carefully helped her. Stepping back to admire his handiwork,

"Hmm…yes, you'll pass."

He paused, unsure how to ask her…

"Um…can I see you later?"

She looked at him seriously and, folding her arms,

"No…I don't want you to do that…"

For a moment he looked genuinely in shock, entirely confused by her sudden retraction. He squared his shoulders and desperately tried not to look hurt. Then she smiled, and cupped his cheek with her hand,

"Please don't ask me ever again, Joseph. "

He looked into her eyes, their warmth entirely incongruous with her cruel words,

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to ask…you never should have had to…"

Their eyes met and he could feel the grin spreading across his face. The projector stopped with a clunk, and they could hear Mia beginning to stir.

She smiled, and tapping him playfully on the nose, slipped out into the darkened room, carefully closing the door behind her. Joe sighed, leaning back against the wall, trying to piece together what had just happened.

After excusing herself from the next film, with the half-hearted reason that she was tired, Clarisse made her way back to her suite. The lamps were already lit and she was pleased to note that the maids had left the balcony door ajar, so as to let some breeze into the bedroom. She glanced at her watch, ten-to-eleven…wonderful. The maids would have left by now, and, unless she called for them, the evening was all hers.

Slipping off her cardigan and folding it neatly over the back of a chair, she wandered through to the huge bathroom. Carefully removing her earrings and unclasping her necklace, she laid the jewellery down on the edge of the marble sink. Glancing in the mirror, she noticed, with a smile, just what a good job Joseph had done in fixing her mascara. And promptly burst out laughing at the image which involuntarily sprung to her mind of Joseph, sitting before a dressing table, expertly removing his mascara and eyeshadow. Running a hand through her hair, she wondered not for the first time whether she should let it grow a bit longer. But, as always, she decided against it…she'd kept it short for so long now, any change would probably just look, well, plain ridiculous.

Turning the large bronze taps, she began to run herself a bath. Usually, the maids would try and insist on doing all this for her, but she always refused. Ever since she had come to the palace, all those years ago, the bathroom had been her little sanctuary. There was a lock on the door, which she could close from the inside, and to which there was no external key. Of course, she rarely locked it, but that didn't matter, the point was that she could. All the staff knew that, Joseph included, and each respected this symbol of privacy. He had never asked to enter…this morning he had returned to his own room…he knew what it meant. Only once had he stepped over that line. Tonight, however, she left the door ajar.

Pouring in a splash of scented oil, she slipped out of her remaining clothes and, lighting the candles which surrounded the enormous tub and flicking off the lights, slid into the warm water. Almost instantly she felt better, more composed. Leaning back, she sighed, her eyes resting shut, the steam from the water clearing her head, the delicate scent wafting its way around the darkened room…

Joe, meanwhile, was back in his own room, taking a shower. He wasn't really a bath man, himself, preferring the feeling of the spray massaging his aching shoulders to the gentle relaxation of a long soak. In any case, he rarely had the luxury of more than ten minutes, and he rather feared that he might doze off in a bath. He was pondering again what Mia had told him after Clarisse had left. Worried about her grandmother's sudden departure, the poor girl had been feeling guilty about pressing her so much about Philippe. Joe had reassured her and promised to make sure Clarisse was alright before going to bed himself. On reflection, he wondered, perhaps that hadn't been the best admission to make to Mia, but never mind…the girl had been worried, and, quite frankly, so had he.

As he dried off his hair with a towel, he glanced at the clock. Eleven fifteen. He wondered if she might not have gone straight to bed. But remembering her earlier comments, he decided that it was unlikely…and, in any case, that didn't mean he couldn't go and join her.

Knocking lightly on the door of the balcony, he was pleasantly surprised when it swung open. Scanning the room, though, he was rather curious as to where his princess might be. The room was lit by the bedside lamp, but the sheets on the bed were still meticulously turned back, as the maids would have left them. She wasn't in the sitting room either or, he was pleased to note, the private study. Walking back into the bedroom, he was suddenly aware of a sweet fragrance wafting from the bathroom door. Which was open.

He raised an eyebrow and decided to investigate. Slipping off his shoes and jacket, and draping the latter over a chair, he moved towards the door quietly. Gently nudging the door open a little more, he glanced in, not wanting to surprise her or, indeed, invade her privacy if she were changing. The room was almost in darkness though, lit only by three or four candles which surrounded the tub. Stepping further into the room, he carefully pushed the door to.

"Darling?"

Again, he didn't want to startle her. But there was no answer. His eyes adjusting to the dim light, he realised that she'd fallen asleep. Turned on her side, her head was resting comfortably on her folded arms, her breathing shallow and relaxed. He smiled to himself, falling in love once again with the sleeping beauty stretched out before him.

For a moment he wondered if he should leave her, but his responsible streak soon convinced him that she shouldn't be left alone like this. He considered waking her, but quickly told himself not yet… She was so relaxed and, from the slight smile playing on her lips, was definitely enjoying whatever dream she was having. He settled on a not-entirely-unpleasant compromise, and sat down gently in the chair by the mirrored dressing table. The room was warm and the air heavy with the delicate scent of the bath. The flickering candles lulled him into a wonderful state of relaxation. Shifting a little, he told himself that he couldn't sleep, not now…and so he started to think…to think back to the first time, the only time until now, that he'd been in this room…

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Flashback to post-Rupert period, last seen in Chapter 17

They had successfully avoided each other for months. After his return, Joe had established a new strict routine to his day, a routine that was crafted almost entirely around avoiding Clarisse. He woke early, and took the first shift in the security room, starting at four and coming off at ten. Then he slept until three. In the afternoons he met with other members of staff and co-ordinated any official engagements. In the evening he debriefed and planned for future events. By nine, he was asleep.

Clarisse had begun to learn how to live without his continual presence. She rarely saw him now, meeting as they did only for a brief, hour-long meeting on a Friday. And never alone. He insisted on Charlotte and Martin being present because, quite simply, he had added in a tone that left little room for questions, 'their presence was required.'

By day, she was starting to exist without him. At night, though, her mind would slip back into a past that her heart was still nurturing. She would dream of him, waking only to find herself alone…once again. Each morning she would resist the urge to let her eyes slide shut again, willing herself to move on from that impossible fantasy. Each day, though, it was getting harder.

And she worried about him. His face was drawn and he looked permanently tired. One afternoon, quite out of the blue, she had surprised Charlotte by asking how he was. The young woman had looked up suddenly from the file she was skimming, and met her gaze with a hint of a raised eyebrow.

"Joseph is fine, your Majesty, just fine…" Her voice had been uncertain, and, as usual, Clarisse had known immediately that she was lying. Charlotte never was any good at that.

"Really? I thought he looked a little run down last week…"

"No. I mean yes…he did. But no, he's fine. He'll be fine."

She hadn't said any more, and Clarisse hadn't asked. But she was worried.

One morning in early February, when Joe had just finished his shift, a call came in to the security room announcing the imminent arrival of Prince Philippe. He had been rather taken aback by the news, irritated at, once again, the lack of proper warning. But he had kept his cool and quickly delegated Martin to fix up the route and co-ordinate the necessary travel arrangements.

The Prince had been conducting a short tour of Italy, attending a global economic conference in Turin and meeting with the new Prime Minister in Milan, and was not due back in Genovia until the middle of next week. A year ago, Joe would have wondered about the sudden change of plans, whether something was up, but now he simply didn't have the energy. The Prince was returning home, and it seriously messed up his arrangements. At least Clarisse would be happy though…

He sighed, forcibly shifting that last, almost automatic thought from his mind, and headed off in the direction of his rooms. Closing the door behind him, he did what he hadn't done for several months, and reached into his desk drawer for the sleeping pills. His doctor had prescribed them after the nightmares began, and though he had tried desperately not to overuse them, today, with the thoughts that were whirring round his head, he decided to give in for once.

It had already grown dark outside when the insistent buzzing of his cell phone finally woke him. Eventually managing to located it in the gloomy room, he flipped the cover and raised it to his ear,

"Yes?" His voice was still heavy with sleep, and almost threateningly gruff.

"Joe…Joe, you have to come to my office." It was Charlotte. And something was seriously wrong. Her voice was thin, and uncharacteristically shaky. He reached for the light, and winced a little as the brightness glared against his eyes.

"Joe?"

"I'm here, Charlotte…I, I'm coming." He flipped the phone shut and, throwing on his jacket, moved to the door. It was only when he was halfway down the corridor that he realised he hadn't even asked what was wrong.

It was a few short corridors to Charlotte's office, but each step stretched out before him, filled as it was with possible scenarios, each more terrible than the last, of what might have provoked such a reaction in her. He hadn't asked, he realised now, because he hadn't dared.

Clarisse.

And now it all came flooding over him, with a force that was almost palpable. The weeks and months of silence. The avoidance, the indifference. It all meant nothing. The fear that coursed through him was proof enough. She would never, could never, be nothing to him.

He burst through the door and was immediately surprised to find nearly all the security staff, and some of the domestic staff waiting in Charlotte's office. For a moment, all eyes fell on him, some of which, he noticed, were noticeably reddened, and then all looked away. He felt a delicate hand on his upper arm, and turned slightly towards the touch. Drawing him slightly away from the group, Charlotte saw the fear in his eyes and, rubbing his arm discreetly, soothingly, whispered the words he needed to hear,

"It's not her…"

He swallowed, and understanding the implications, squared his shoulders, turning to face her,

"Which one?"

"Philippe."


	20. Chapter Twenty

Automatically, Joe switched into professional mode, taking a deep breath and, for a moment at least, fought back the myriad of questions racing through his mind. He cast a glance around the despondent group massed in Charlotte's office, and decided it was time to take charge. Clearing his throat discreetly, he began to address them,

"Right everyone…until all the details come to light, I will be unable to tell you any more than you all already know. Whatever has happened, the next few days will not be easy on any of us, and in the light of this I ask you for your assistance."

He paused, trying not to think about her, where she might be, what she must be going through…trying to concentrate on the task in hand.

"The palace must continue to run smoothly. Indeed, more so now than ever. We must all return to our respective roles and fulfil our duties as best as can be achieved. The family need us to keep things going."

Was she alone? He presumed she must be…God, he had to stop this, it had taken so long to create this distance from her, he couldn't crumble now.

"I will arrange to meet with all staff tomorrow morning at the latest, and will update you all on the situation. In the meantime, I remind you of your duty to the Crown, and respectfully request that no-one speaks to the press."

He looked up, desperately hoping that his voice betrayed nothing of the inner turmoil he was experiencing. No one, except perhaps Charlotte, seemed to be looking at him.

"Thank you everyone. That will be all for the moment."

Quietly, all but Martin and Charlotte filed out of the room. For a moment, an awkward pause hung over them, no-one quite knowing what to say. Looking up at the clock, Joe noted that it was nearly seven. Almost dinner. But he couldn't even contemplate eating. He felt sick, and his mouth was dry. Sick with worry, sick with the knowledge that the reality of Philippe's death had still to sink in. Right now he was numb, worried more about Clarisse. The grief, he knew, would come later.

Martin sat down heavily on the sofa, and Charlotte wandered over to the window to draw the heavy curtains. She was nervous, Joe could tell...her hands were fussing with the fabric, and her shoulders were tense. He moved to the seat opposite Martin, and sat down himself. After taking a moment to compose himself, he looked up at the young man, ready to hear the answers to questions he'd never thought he would have cause to ask.

"What happened?"

"This afternoon...at three, we think. No one is quite sure how it happened yet, but the car ploughed off the road before they entered the tunnel...it went through the security rail and straight down the embankment."

Joe closed his eyes, momentarily unable to shake the image of a young Philippe playing hide and seek with his brother, and sheepishly coming to tell him that he'd accidentally knocked over and broken a lamp stand in the billiard room. He'd been so innocent, and so afraid to tell his mother. And so he had confided in Joe.

"They didn't stand a chance, Joe...we got the call at about 3.20. The second car with the other security staff in lost radio contact and phoned it through."

He remembered when he'd come to tell him about his first girlfriend...how they'd laughed together about how his mother would disapprove. And how Joe had then spent the evening telling a bemused and enchanted Clarisse about the girl.

"The police are at the crash site, still investigating. They've retrieved the bodies, and I've arranged for them to be flown home in the morning."

He remembered Clarisse confiding in him when she found out about Helen, about the angry fights between Rupert and Philippe. All for nothing now. God, that poor child…Amelia, wasn't it?

"Joe?"

He started a little, coming back to himself. Not now. This was not the time to reminisce, to think even.

"Thank you Martin, you've done the right thing. I'm sorry I was not there to help..." His voice trailed off a little, his mind still distracted by the power of the images he'd relived. "Martin…one more thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"Who else was in the car?"

"Simon, and the driver, Anton"

"Someone must speak with their families." He sighed, suddenly wondering what one could say in such circumstances.

"Leave it to me sir. It would be an honour."

Joe nodded, proud of the young man who had matured considerably in the last four hours, thankful that someone had been there to co-ordinate things. Pleased he would not have to face the families…fearing already the eventual encounter he would surely have to arrange with Clarisse.

Martin rose and made his way to the door, pausing only to glance back questioningly at Charlotte. Joe was oblivious. Entirely unaware of the strained conversation that had preceded Charlotte's call…how Martin had wanted him there immediately, how Charlotte had insisted that she inform the Queen instead…Both hoped that the sharp words that had been uttered in the heat of the moment would be forgotten. She nodded, assuring him that all was forgiven. He nodded back, knowing what she was about to try, glancing down at the clearly fragile Joe and understanding now why she had hesitated so long before calling him.

As the door clicked shut, Joe looked up from his hands, and turned to face her,

"Has Pierre been informed?"

Charlotte moved away from the window and came to sit next to him.

"Yes, he'll be here the day after tomorrow."

He hesitated, twisting his hands nervously, and she watched him closely, knowing what he wanted to ask, wondering whether he would.

"And the Queen?"

She sighed, still looking at him, unsure of what she should do. She bit her lip, and decided not to attempt a lie.

"I don't know."

He looked up suddenly, and met her gaze, for a moment unable to mask his obvious confusion.

"You don't know?"

She reached out and took his hand, more to keep him from running than for comfort. They had become so much closer over the past months, firm friends indeed…brought together, she thought wryly, by something that neither of them had ever dared mention. Clarisse. They had become friends because she was the only person had understood, had given him the space to be with his own thoughts. And they had stayed friends because she had never asked the impossible question, had never show how much she had understood. She realised now that, however much she might risk offending him, and might risk losing his trust, the time had come for her to reveal how much she'd seen.

"She won't say anything, Joe...she, she...I told her and she just looked at me...through me...and then she told me to leave. I didn't know what to say...and so I left. And she locked the door."

She looked at him, and watched as the carefully constructed composure began to falter. He still loved Clarisse…that much was certain. He was trying so hard to look professional…and that made it somehow worse. She herself had been so weak, had done it all wrong. Maybe she had made the situation worse? Perhaps if she had just explained it differently…waited a few more minutes? Tears that had been threatening to fall ever since she had fled from Clarisse's room began to well up again.

Realising how hard she was finding it all, Joe pulled her into a hug, hoping she would keep it together. They needed to stay professional. Pressed against his chest she wouldn't see the concern that was so obviously plastered across his face, a concern that betrayed more than his professional duty.

"Hey, it's ok...you did your best. Don't worry."

Don't worry? He was worried though, and so was Charlotte.

"But I am worried, she looked terrible...for a moment I didn't recognise her."

He didn't say a word, not sure if he could trust his voice. He felt her shift slightly, drawing back a little.

"Please go and talk to her Joe."

She held her breath a little, wishing she could see his eyes. He was eternally grateful that she could not. He closed them, and the images returned…but this time it was Clarisse. Her cheeky smile when she winked at him across a crowded dining table; the way her heels clicked on the terrace when she walked; the way her skin felt like velvet when he would trace a finger down the curve of her back as she slept in the early morning light. Still he didn't reply. Trying desperately hard to shift all those images into a past tense. Pulling back a little, she tried to look at him, but, to her surprise, his eyes were shut. He looked exhausted. When he finally spoke his voice was rough, as if it might break,

"Please don't ask me that, Charlotte."

She rubbed his arm soothingly, and opening his eyes, he smiled weakly. She continued,

"I'm sorry, but I have to...she won't talk to me. She has to...has to say something... I know she'll talk to you."

He sighed again, sitting back again in the chair, rubbing his brow. He looked at her and shook his head, more to persuade himself than anything else.

"Not any more. She's changed."

He looked almost as if he might cry, and for a second she hesitated. Then she remembered the pitiful image of the Queen, hunched up on the sofa, not saying anything, just looking at the wall.

"She needs you, Joe...please just try?"

"If she wants to talk she will just ask...you know the Queen, she deals with things differently."

They both knew this wasn't true, and his words hung in the air between them. A lie that would convince neither of them. Each holding on to its fiction while it lasted. Getting up, she moved back over to the window,

"She's locked herself in her room, Joe...I'm worried."

His heart sank, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There really was no choice. He would have to face this. Face her. Charlotte was right. She needed him.

Opening them slowly, he wasn't surprised to see Charlotte staring back at him. He sighed again and, looking down at his hands, tried to explain.

"You don't understand what you're asking me to do, Charlotte."

For a moment she hesitated, unsure how far she should push this, how much she should reveal. He looked so tired...but there really was no option now.

"I do Joe, that's why it took me nearly two hours to call you. I tried...really I did, but she won't listen. She's..."

He stood suddenly, and she wondered if he would leave. Shaking his head and obsessively straightening out his creased jacket, he realised that he couldn't walk away now. He could never walk away. He remembered the promise he'd once made…'not unless you ask me to leave.'

And so he didn't.

"Tell me what happened Charlotte."

She exhaled the breath she didn't realise that she'd been holding, pleased she'd finally got through to him, pleased he hadn't been angry. Turning back to the window, she started to speak.

"We got the call just after three...I decided straight away that Her Majesty should know immediately, and that I should tell her. She was in her private study, reading something...I can't remember...she stood up to greet me, and I told her that I needed to speak to her. Then she smiled at me, and joked that I was terrible at breaking things gently to her, and that, whatever mistake I'd made, she was sure it wasn't the end of the world. I didn't know what to say..."

She paused for a moment, obviously fighting back the tears,

"I asked her to sit down...and I just told her...straight out like that. Maybe I was wrong? I don't know...She just stared at me, Joe...she just stared. It was if I hadn't said it...and for a moment I wondered if I hadn't. She looked at me straight and asked if I was sure. I could only nod. Then she blinked and her eyes seemed to change. Just like that. I think I moved next to her then, and asked what I should do...she just kept staring out the window. Then she looked down at her hands, and I thought she would cry. But she didn't. I was so confused...I...I put a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched. Flinched, and then she told me to leave. I didn't know what to do...I had to leave, she...she... So I did. And she didn't even look up Joe, nothing. As I left the room I went to the security post to look at the cameras. I hated myself for it, but I had to look..."

"And?"

"Nothing...she sat there for nearly an hour. Then she got up and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. About an hour ago I tried knocking...but she won't answer. So I called you."

He stopped pacing, and looked straight at her.

"She's in shock..."

Charlotte nodded, wrapping her arms about her, shivering a little.

"You did the right thing, Charlotte...", he paused, suddenly aware of what he was about to do. For the first time since he had entered the room, she allowed herself a weak smile.

Again he felt himself switching into autopilot, "Don't worry...I'll go and find her. I'm...she...perhaps you could make sure that all the security cameras covering her suite are disconnected...and that we're not disturbed?"

For a moment he wondered if he'd said too much, but Charlotte simply nodded calmly, and picked up the phone. Plunging his hands into his pockets, Joe headed in the direction of the door.

"Good luck..."

Silently closing the main door of the suite behind him, Joe wasn't surprised to find the sitting-room area shrouded entirely in darkness. He swallowed, and desperately tried to plan what he would do, what he might say. The walk down the corridors to the door had felt almost endless, but now he was there, inside, he realised that he had no idea what he would do, what he should do. He sighed…perhaps plans were no longer the best approach.

From what Charlotte had said, he was pretty certain that she would be in the bathroom, and that the door would still be locked. Moving through to the bedroom, unhampered by the dark in this inner sanctum he had once come to know so well, he felt his way to the balcony window. From memory, he knew that there was a small table next to the right door, on which sat a soft, art deco style lamp. Clicking the switch, the warm light filled the room with shadows, and for a moment his mind played tricks with him. He half-expected her to wander casually out from the bathroom, in her blue gown, stroking her hand lazily down his cheek, asking him teasingly why he was still so overdressed. He blinked, and the memory was gone. All the shadows were still again.

It was time. Slipping off his jacket and draping it over the foot of the bed, he moved towards the door. He knocked gently. And waited. As he had feared, there was no answer. He knocked again. But he quickly realised there was no use.

"Clarisse?"

This was no time to distance her with titles…

"Please open the door…"

Again, nothing. Not even movement. She didn't tell him to leave, tell him to get the hell out of her rooms. Not a word.

He sighed, realising the impossibility of the situation. Sliding his hand into the pocket of his trousers, he pulled out a small metal device, and flicked it open. Twisting the various clips into place, he slipped the skeleton key into the lock. He heard the soft thud as the key on the other side fell to the thickly carpeted ground. Taking a deep breath, he battled with his conscience. This was for her own good, he told himself… One hand on the knob, the other treacherously grasping the key, he turned both, and the door clicked softly open.

A/n So…as you can see, I've decided to take this whole episode seriously slowly! I hope you don't mind…I really think it'll be worth it ;o) Things will definitely pick up in the next chapter – Joe will sort out a seriously stunned Clarisse, and then, with something of a mutual agreement, we will see the start of the kind of relationship (the details of which I'm not going to reveal in a silly summary!) I think they have at the opening of PD1. Then, it's back to the present…

I know it's a cliffie, and for this I'm sorry – but I promise I'll update soon! PS. Thanks ever so much for all your reviews – it's really useful to know what everyone else is thinking. Please do continue letting me know! ;o)


	21. Chapter Twenty One

To his surprise, the room was in darkness, and as he cautiously stepped further in, he made sure the door was left ajar. The air was eerily still and, had he not known categorically otherwise, he would have sworn that he was alone. But of course he wasn't. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he realised that she was lying, curled up, in the bath. The shaft of dim light from the doorway caught the top of her shoulder, highlighting her hair.

She was lying on her stomach, her arms folded in front of her, set on the edge of the bath. Her head was resting on top of them, and he wondered if she was asleep. The steady rise and fall of her back brought him a comfort that he could not even begin to describe. The relief was almost physical, and he could feel the muscles across his back slowly relaxing. He had honestly never really processed the risk of her doing something drastic, but to now be sure…he sighed, wondering where to begin.

He moved closer still, unable to take his eyes from her face, following his instinct now, rather than any sense of what he should do, what the proper thing to do might be. Kneeling down alongside the ornate iron bathtub, he realised with a start that she was not asleep. From this angle, the light revealed that her eyes were open…and staring straight into his own.

He realised that he had no idea what to say. And so he said nothing. Never taking his eyes off her own, he lifted his hand and gently set it down on her bare shoulder. She didn't flinch as perhaps he might have expected, but instead, her eyes closed. He brought his hand up to the nape of her neck, massaging it tenderly, hoping the gesture would somehow convey the words that he was as yet unable to formulate. She was freezing, the water obviously long gone cold. In the faint light her skin was deathly pale, and was chilled to the touch. He continued to stroke her neck soothingly, allowing his upper arms to rest on her shoulder. She shivered, and he quickly realised that he would have to move her soon.

"I'm so sorry, Clarisse…"

Her eyes opened drowsily, the moisture of tears glistening in the dim light. She didn't reply, her open eyes the only sign that she had heard him, but he hoped his meaning was clear. She shivered involuntarily, and he automatically wrapped his arm around both her shoulders. Her eyes closed again, and she pressed her face back into her folded arms, unwilling to move, unable to think.

He realised then that she was in no state to get out of the bath and dry herself off….and for a moment he hesitated. Would she let him? He looked again at her, curled up naked in a tub of icy water, seemingly oblivious to the world collapsing around her, no doubt seeking that oblivion. Charlotte had been right, she needed him…

Moving quickly now, he stood and removed an oversized bath sheet from the mercifully heated rail. After spreading it out on the bed, he swiftly went back into the darkened bathroom. He decided not to switch on the lights, not wanting to startle her, or invade her privacy more than was absolutely necessary. He glanced across at the tub. She hadn't moved at all. Her eyes were closed again, and he began to worry that she might be falling asleep.

Stripping off his shirt and setting it by the sink, he came to stand alongside her once again. Once more, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulders, not wanting to scare her, desperately trying to bring her back.

"Clarisse…my darling, we need to get you warmed up…will you let me help you?

It took a moment, but she stirred, and again looked at him with those worryingly glazed, tear-filled eyes. For a few seconds, she fixed him with a blank stare…then turned back, her face pressed into her arms.

He lowered himself down, wrapping his left arm underneath her chest, his right hand still resting on her back to support her. Slowly and carefully, he turned her over. Then, before she even really registered the movement, he had slipped his right arm underneath her thighs and swiftly lifted her out of the freezing water, bringing her to lie close against his warm chest. For a moment she struggled, as if she were trying to stand, but he held her firmly. Almost immediately she stopped, and, to his surprise and relief, curled into him, burying her face in his chest. Instantly he felt chilled by her cold skin next to his, and shivered himself. Thank God he had arrived when he did…

Carefully, he carried her into the bedroom, his left arm supporting her shoulders, stroking them soothingly. As he set her down on the warmed towel, she instinctively curled up, and he took the opportunity to sit down next to her and wrap the warm fabric around her. Still she hadn't spoken… but he decided not to press her.

Taking a handful of the towel, he began to carefully dry her back and her upper arms. She didn't protest…to be honest, she hardly seemed to register his presence. Gradually though, as he dried her stomach and legs, she began to come back to life. Her eyes were open now, and she watched him as he tenderly wrapped another fresh towel around her shoulders. Feeling her eyes on him, he looked up.

"Clarisse?"

She continued to stare at him for some time, not exactly scrutinising, more absorbing his presence. He opened his mouth to try again, but she blinked noticeably, and he faltered. A solitary tear worked its way down her cheek. Instinctively, he reached out and brushed it away, his palm coming to rest against her face. Never taking her eyes off him, she reached up and placed her own hand on top of his.

He sighed audibly, letting out the breath he didn't realise that he'd been holding, and swiftly wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, pulling her in to rest against him. She buried her face in his bare chest willingly, his hand coming down to rest on the nape of her neck. Still she had not spoken a word, and yet the trance had been broken. He could feel her trembling as she cried softly, silently against him, the warm dampness of her tears again his skin.

After a few minutes, she began to settle…her breathing grew regular, and she stopped trembling. Joe continued to stroke her neck, hoping that in his own insignificant way he could somehow lessen the pain. Words were unimportant, and glaringly empty now, and so none were uttered.

A few more minutes passed before he registered that she had fallen asleep in his arms. For the first time since he had heard the news, he allowed himself a faint smile. He glanced at his watch and, noting that it was quarter to nine, wondered how Charlotte and Martin were coping. As much as he longed to remain here, with this sleeping beauty in his arms, he really should go and reassure Charlotte at least, that everything was alright…or at least, that it would be.

Twisting a little, and looping his arm under her knees, he lifted Clarisse into his arms. Pulling back the heavy covers as he set her down again, she sleepily complied as he eased her into the warm bed. Her face was still tear-stained and, he was sure, there would be more tears to cry, but at least she was resting now. He brought the covers up to rest around her shoulders, making sure that she was warm enough. For a moment he hesitated, his hand dangerously close to her face…yes, he had seen her naked but five minutes ago…but this was different, so very different. He swallowed, desperately trying to push back the feelings of longing surging within him. He could not allow himself to get involved now. Especially not now. Carefully removing his hand, he dropped a chaste kiss to her forehead. She stirred a little, still asleep, but drifting…"Joseph?"

His heart leapt, and he almost faltered, almost kissed her awake, almost pulled her back into his arms. But he didn't, and instead stepped back a pace, waited with held breath for her to settle again. Not now, not like this. He couldn't let it all happen again. They had hurt each other so much…it was too soon to even think that it might be possible. Stepping back into the shadows, he moved quietly towards the bathroom to retrieve his shirt. With one last glance back, to check that she was still sleeping, he left the room.

Just after eleven, having spoken with Charlotte, taken a shower, and forced some dinner, he went back to the suite to check on her. The cameras were still off, he was pleased to note, and, apart from the bedside lamp that he had deliberately left on, the rooms were still dark. He hoped that she would still be resting peacefully.

Stepping into the bedroom, however, he was surprised to find her dressed in a pair of warm pyjamas, standing by the window. He knew that she had registered his presence by the way her shoulders had tensed as he walked in. Perhaps this was a good sign? Slowly, he walked towards her.

"I can't do this, Joseph…"

Her voice was uncharacteristically small, and so very tired. He frowned, still unsure of her meaning. She continued to stare out of the window into the blackness outside,

"I can't go out of this room tomorrow and face everyone, meet the press, arrange what needs to be arranged…I can't do this anymore."

He stepped forward a pace, and laid his hand firmly on her shoulder. Slowly, he massaged her with his thumb, thinking carefully how he should respond to this. He felt her relax a little against him, leaning back, almost imperceptibly, but enough.

"You don't have to. You _won't_ have to. I've organised all your appointments to be suspended indefinitely, the press know that they are not welcome here…and Charlotte is more than capable to make arrangements for the funeral."

She flinched slightly, and he regretted his frankness. Soothing her with his thumb, he instantly conveyed his concern, and she understood, once again relaxing against him. She lifted her hand to her face, and he realised that she was crying again. Bringing his other hand to her shoulder, he ran his palms up and down her arms. She trembled a little, and then seemed to regain control. She was stronger now, the initial shock having worn off…she was herself again.

"Joseph…"

It wasn't a question, and for a moment he didn't know what to do, how to respond. All that was sensible and rational told him to leave now. She was alright, she would cope. But he realised now that it wasn't about her just coping…she would be better if he stayed, helped her to cope. And he wanted to help her. She seemed to understand his inner turmoil, and stepped forward slightly, not leaving his touch, but permitting him to withdraw.

He didn't. Ignoring his better judgment, he pulled her even closer than before, bringing her to rest against his chest. As he wrapped his arms around her waist, he felt her relax against him. Her hands came to rest on top of his. They both stared out into the darkness, each in their own thoughts.

"You came back…"

Again, his mind whirred, unsure of her meaning…this moment, this evening, from Spain?…he was lost. She understood his hesitation, suddenly aware of the truth in her originally casual words,

"I didn't think you'd come back this evening…"

He smiled, pleased that she wasn't reading too much into this…this gesture of friendship. Her hand traced the back of his and his breath caught, his body betraying once again precisely what his mind was still too closed to accept.

"How could I not?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Back to 'present' – i.e. Clarisse in a slightly warmer bath, and Joe keeping watch!

He winced a little, his knee getting rather stiff from sitting too long. He glanced over to the bath and couldn't help but smile as she screwed up her eyes, obviously dreaming about something or other.

That terrible night, he had left her quite soon after their conversation by the window. It had been difficult, and he knew that she would have let him stay had he asked, but he was glad now that he hadn't. She had needed to grieve alone, needed time to think for herself, as, indeed, had he. Looking back, he was amazed that he had been so strong then. With a sigh though, he wondered perhaps if it had not been more a case of fear than strength. He simply hadn't dared face the potential heartache once more…

As he stood, to stretch his knee a little, the chair scraped on the marble floor, and she stirred. She blinked a few times, obviously not expecting to see him standing there, but then she smiled,

"Hello you…"

He smiled back, and reaching for a large towel, set it on the stool by the tub.

"Nice bath?"

She grinned, stretching her arms lazily in the water,

"All the better for having a charming attendant."

A/N This one was hard…and I'm still not convinced I did it justice, but never mind. Next time, it will be a bit of Clarisse pov…in the car after the funeral (with Joe, of course!) when she tells him what she wants, and he tells her they should wait. Any reviews, good or bad, are most welcome ;o)


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

(Given artistic license and all that…plus my little shifting in the timescale, the ball at the beginning of PD2 doesn't happen…Mia meets Nicholas somewhere else…we shift straight into the trip to Parliament, and Clarisse's difficult news for the princess)

Present – Genovia, Clarisse's bedroom

As she yawned silently and stretched out her arms above her head, Clarisse was pleasantly surprised to find herself resting gently against Joseph's warm chest. It really interested her that, the way their bodies were growing increasingly at ease with each other, how each morning they would wake to find themselves slightly closer. His breathing was deep and steady…and she knew that he wouldn't wake anytime soon. She turned carefully, smiling as his arm, which had hung loosely at her side now circled her more firmly, holding her to him as she settled her cheek against his chest. He sighed and, pulling her even closer, so her forehead tucked into the crook of his neck, he settled again.

She wondered what time it was. Today was the big day so far as Amelia was concerned. Parliament would be discussing her accession to the throne this afternoon, and voting on the general timescale of transition from one queen to another. Clarisse snuggled into Joseph, trying to rid herself of the tension that was already building. She reminded herself that it was nothing more than a formality, and that any divergence of opinion would simple mean a matter of weeks. She closed her eyes, wishing she could fall back to sleep. Oh how she hated visiting parliament…

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

As she strode into her study late that evening, she didn't immediately register that she had company. Cursing loudly, she threw herself down on the leather couch in front of the fire. Thank god Mia had ensconced herself in the film room, armed with an array of what looked like cheap B-movies and a tub of ice-cream. Normally she would've objected to the fact the girl was clearly about to eat the whole carton with a spoon, but she'd held her tongue. Her granddaughter had more than enough to think about at the moment. In fact, she could really do with some ice-cream herself right now… Groaning again, feeling the unmistakable throbbing of a headache descending upon her, she twisted and buried her face in the cool leather.

"Everything alright, my love?"

Her head snapped up, and she realised that he must have been sitting at her desk, looking out over the dark gardens, even before she'd come in. She couldn't decide if she was irritated by his presence or incredibly grateful. Sighing, and easing herself into a sitting position, she opted for grateful.

"Not exactly…did Charlotte fill you in?"

He smiled, the corner of his mouth curling, and swung the chair round to look at her,

"Yes…but she then, on pain of death, she swore me to secrecy…"

Clarisse smiled in spite of the pain working its way behind her eyes, and stood up, shaking her head,

"You look rather at home in that seat, you know…"

He grinned, stroking the leather arm rests as if to illustrate her observation,

"Hmm…yes, just like a Bond villain…"

He growled, and frowning evilly, began to stroke an imaginary white cat on his lap… He was pleased that she could smile, she'd had one hell of a day. She would make light of it now, of course, but from what Charlotte had said, she'd really been pulled over the coals this afternoon. And as for the implications of Mia's engagement upon her already fragile relationship to duty and obligation, he didn't want to go there right now…

The smile soon faltered though, and, as she leant against the back of the couch, she rubbed her temples. Assessing the situation, he decided that staying would be better than leaving and, getting up, he quickly crossed the room. The door was shut, and there was little chance of interruption.

She smiled weakly, as he clasped his hands loosely round her waist. Too tired to reciprocate, not wanting to push him away. Kissing the hand that was still rubbing her eyes, he looked at her sympathetically, not wanting to crowd her, but knowing she needed comfort all the same.

"Rough day?" He raised an eyebrow, and asked as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if she were a frazzled wife, coming come from a stinker of a day in the office needing to vent.

Again she smiled, exhausted, but less tense now, and brought her forehead down to rest against his shoulder,

"One of the worst…"

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in to rest fully against him, and dropped a kiss to her cheek. She sighed, and he gently began to stroke her back.

"Tea, my darling?"

She snuggled in deeper, momentarily pushing the tension to the back of her mind, and tilted her head to kiss his neck,

"Tonight, Joseph…tonight I need a whisky. " He smiled. That was his Clarisse.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

They had spent a long time talking over the situation that evening. Clarisse had been keen to think through the options there and then, to try and deal with things immediately. It was her way of coping, he knew that, and for a while he humoured her. Mia would have to enter into an arranged marriage, just as Clarisse had done; would have to put her country before herself. That decision made, and it appeared that Mia had been quite adamant that she was prepared to do this, it remained only to find a suitable candidate.

It had been his ridiculous idea to put together the PowerPoint presentation…he'd meant it entirely as a joke, but, in her exhausted state, Clarisse had jumped on it and declared it a marvellous idea. He didn't have the heart to protest. She was focusing entirely on the practicalities, missing entirely the real situation that was unfolding. It all seemed just so wrong…such a waste. That poor girl.

Clarisse was not being cruel, she was simply on autopilot, and so he said nothing as she began listing possible husbands. She seemed less tense now that she had something constructive to do. He could only watch her and wait….wait for the inevitable realisation of what she was asking of her granddaughter.

Just after ten, she dropped the pad and her pen to the table and sunk back into the seat.

"Enough."

He looked up from the book he had been attempting to read and tried to work out what she meant. She was rubbing her eyes again, and looked thoroughly exhausted.

"You should go to bed…"

She smiled, and, as if on cue, yawned sleepily.

"Stay with me? I shan't sleep nearly so well otherwise…"

He smiled back, and got up to sit down next to her, wrapping an arm casually around her shoulders.

"It would be my pleasure."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

But, it turned out, it was Joe who ended up having trouble sleeping… The events of the day had taken their toll on him too. That and the horrible suspicion he had that things might get worse before they began to get better. He was still struggling to comprehend the reality of what Mia was being asked to do. Having lived with the consequences of such a decision for so long himself, could hardly bear to stand back and watch his little girl make the same mistake. He sighed and shifted slowly in the bed, taking care not to wake Clarisse. Propping himself up on an elbow, he watched her as she dreamed. A faint smile was playing on her lips and her face was relaxed. The room was still dimly lit by the table lamp by the door – Clarisse hated the dark, and always kept something on lest she wake in the middle of the night. She turned a little and rubbed her face against the pillow, stretching her hand out in her sleep to find him.

He smiled, she always looked so innocent when she slept, so untroubled. It was good to see her relaxed. Again she shifted, and murmured under her breath,

"Not now…no…"

He raised an eyebrow, wondering what she was dreaming about. Three words. They meant nothing, of that he was sure. They couldn't. Surely she couldn't remember that? But the force of his own words, uttered what seemed like an age ago, came back and hit him full force…

OoOoOoOoOoOo

(Flashback)

It had been the day of the funeral. Appropriately, it had been grey and overcast, threatening rain. The ceremony had gone as well as could be expected. From the rear of the church, he had listened in admiration as Pierre read the eulogy, his heart breaking as he watched Clarisse desperately holding it together. It was with a pathetic irony, he realised, that this was exactly what he should be doing. For once, all he had to notice was Clarisse, never to take his eyes from her, tracking her every move. Today, however, it almost killed him to watch her.

She was dressed exquisitely in black – the epitome of mourning perfection. So refined, so calm, so…together. Had he not known that she were crumbling slowly inside, he would have found it almost distasteful. Only he had noticed the iridescent tear slip down her cheek as Pierre mentioned their childhood escapades; only he had registered the way she leant heavily on her son's arm as they left the church. Only he realised that she had asked Pierre to allow her to travel back to the palace alone after the burial.

As he had joined her in the car, she had seemed surprised. She was sitting in the far corner, her legs crossed delicately at the ankles, her hands folded in her lap, her forehead pressed against the cool window. For a moment, he decided not to speak. There had been something of reconciliation since the night of Philippe's death. Both had realised that something had changed…but neither had pressed it. This was not the time. He had been more relaxed, and she had appreciated his support. Occasionally he had offered a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to. Each had been cautious not to give too much…both knowing full well that this elaborate dance of emotional tag couldn't continue indefinitely.

Her involuntary shudder wrenched him from his thoughts, and he was shocked to find her bent over double, her body racked with silent sobs. In a second, he was beside her, his arm instinctively wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

The car was moving now and, from the scenery outside, they had about ten minutes before they arrived back at the palace. He turned back to look down at her, all the time rubbing her back soothingly. She needed this release. He said nothing, simply holding her, letting her cry. After a few minutes though, to his surprise, she suddenly sat up and turned towards him, looking him straight in the eye. Her body was still shaking a little and she laid a hand on his chest to steady herself. The tears continued to stream down her face and he automatically raised a hand to wipe them away. Still she held his gaze. Her eyes were impossibly blue, and sparkling as they were with teardrops, he could make out the beautiful grey flecks in them. Everything could change and yet these eyes would remain the same. She could hate him, ignore him, hurt him…and they would still look the same. God she was beautiful. Even when she was in pieces she was beautiful. Especially then.

The car turned a corner and the hand resting on his chest slid a little, inadvertently caressing his breast. He gasped and tensed at her touch. Almost imperceptibly her pupils dilated. Her body had stilled now, and her breathing was getting closer to even. For a second, the intensity of her gaze was too much, the question within it too demanding, and his eyes flicked shut. He felt her breath against his cheek before her lips grazed his. She hesitated, pulling away almost immediately. Not opening his eyes, not wanting reality to intrude, he snaked his hand around to the nape of her neck and pulled her back against his trembling mouth. She sighed, her mouth opening slightly, and he kissed her gently, almost enquiringly. She relaxed against him immediately, her lips bruising his with a passion he had not expected. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with a desperation that left him breathless. He ran his hand delicately down her face and gradually slowed her kisses, his lips savouring each one, his mind begging him to stop. He placed a hand on her shoulder, kissing the corners of her mouth, longing to continue, knowing that he couldn't,

"Not yet…no…"

Feeling him beginning to pull away, she broke the kiss and looked him squarely in the eye. Her face was flushed and her eyes, still glistening, were filled with concern. She began to speak cautiously, as if she didn't quite trust her voice,

"I….I'm sorry….I…" Her head dipped, and she couldn't look at him. The eyes that had held him so captured now hid from his soothing gaze. Again, he brought his hand to her cheek and raised her face. His thumb caressed her bottom lip, and for a moment her eyes flickered shut.

"Don't ever apologise for what you feel, Clarisse…" She looked at him, not understanding what he meant. Taking a deep breath he continued,

"Don't you see that's where it all went wrong? I….I can't deny this feeling any longer…" Her eyes sparkled with hope and she brought her own hand to rest atop of his.

"But this is not the time…you know that as well as I do. We are too dangerous for each other, and I won't hurt you…not again….I…I can't let you hurt me, my darling."

She raised an eyebrow, her treacherous eyes moistening again, desperately searching his. He nodded,

"Yes, my _darling_…you have always been that….and you always will. But we need time."

He looked at her closely, realising that all the while she'd said nothing, and wondered what he could say next. Opening his mouth again, she laid a finger softly on his lips. Nodding almost imperceptibly, she lowered her lips to his own, and for a moment they both relaxed again. This time the kiss was more controlled, but no less intense. As he traced her bottom lip, she shivered, and he smiled against her mouth. Both knew that it would be some time before such a kiss would happen again…but it would. It had to.

As the car began to make its way up the long driveway, they had parted. Taking her handkerchief, Joe had tenderly cleaned up her mascara. The car slowed, and they reached the palace gates. As Joe moved to get out first, she caught his hand and pulled him back slightly,

"I love you, Joseph"

He smiled, kissing her hand delicately,

"And I you, my darling."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

(end flashback – present)

And so it had been for nearly a month, Joe mused, looking down contentedly at the wonderful woman snoozing beside him. But then there had been San Francisco, and everything had changed. He smiled, and kissed her shoulder gently, not wanting to wake her. Lowering himself down onto the pillow beside her he felt his eyes beginning to grow heavy. She shifted again, and almost as if she had registered his movement, snuggled her forehead against his arm. Lifting it carefully, he brought it down around her back as she snuggled into his chest. The last thought he had before finally dropping off to sleep was one of complete contentment.

A/N OK, can you see where I'm going now? Next stop, Wango-time…and an unfortunately timed suggestion ;o)


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

Sorry this has taken so long...have been dealing with 'real' life for the last week, but am back now... ;o) 

The next two weeks passed with surprising speed. As Clarisse tried to mould the young princess into a queen, Joseph found himself extremely busy with security arrangement for the wedding. To be entirely honest, he still found it difficult to accept Mia's decision and, most especially, her choice of husband, but he said nothing. As difficult as it was to accept, he did understand. Years of courting duty made that easy.

Clarisse seemed to be tense, to his mind, and he was beginning to feel more than a little concerned. She had gone into preparation-overdrive the moment the wedding had been fixed and was following each stage keenly. She rose early and came to bed late, her mind clearly overactive. Her body, though, was rapidly losing the battle to keep up. As she napped on the sofa in her sitting room, he was leafing distractedly through a tourist guide to Florence, idly dreaming of the warm stone palazzi and drinking Chianti in the Piazza della Repubblica.

It was late, well after midnight, and he was beginning to grow sleepy, but he didn't want to leave her like that. She couldn't be comfortable, hunched up like that, and she would seriously regret it in the morning. They had continued to spend their nights together, he still woke up with her in his arms, but they hadn't made love since that first night back from San Francisco. He tried not to mind, she was preoccupied, he knew that…it didn't mean anything. It…hmmm…never mind. As he set the book down gently, she woke up with a start. He sighed to himself, she was making a habit of that, and it made him jump every single time.

"Joseph?"

It was less of a question than a slight registering of surprise. He decided to try the straight approach,

"Bed-time?"

She half-smiled, and he raised an eyebrow, already guessing where this one was going,

"I just have a few more things to do….you go to bed, I'll…I'll be done in an hour or so."

"Clarisse…"

His words were gentle, but they held little room for objection. He knew better than to try and persuade her of her own stubbornness, and so tried a softer approach. She met his eyes, almost defiantly, though severely disadvantaged by her tiredness, and attempted a glare.

He smiled, and it was her undoing. Seeing the resolve crumble, he stood and offered her a hand. Taking it, he smoothly pulled her up and then in to rest against his chest. She shivered a little, suddenly realising how cold she had been, and snuggled in closer.

"Are you alright, my darling?"

He felt her nod against his chest, and he eased her back to look into her eyes. Immediately he could see that she was holding back and the faintest whisper of a frown crossed his brow. Cupping her cheek in his hand he tried to make light of it,

"Hmm…I know when you're lying Clarisse…"

"You do?"

"Hmmm."

He idly stroked her lips with his thumb, all the while gazing into her eyes. She raised an eyebrow,

"Your lips always curl up a little at the edges…"

"Nonsense"

He smiled, and kissed her delicately, as if to prove the point.

"You do."

She tried to pull back, but he caught her up in his arms and twisted her round a little,

"Now…you're going to bed."

There were no more protests.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

As she lay sleeping, curled against his arm, he made his mind up. Tomorrow. He would ask her tomorrow. She smiled in her sleep and he gently stroked a hand through her hair. He felt better now that he had decided, but he could feel the nerves beginning to knot his stomach already. Carefully, he brushed a piece of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She shifted a little, and he whispered, almost imperceptibly against her cheek,

"Oh Clarisse…tomorrow you will hear me say it properly…" His voice lowered, the emotion catching in his throat. He pressed his lips chastely to her brow,

"The question though, my darling, is whether you will listen…"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The following day was a beautiful one. As the sun shone brightly and the smell of the freshly mown lawns spilled into her study, Clarisse decided to give in to the temptation to take a walk. Siding open the terrace door, she blinked a little as the darkness of her office was contrasted with the afternoon sun. As she stepped out towards the stone balustrade, to look out over the gardens properly, she found herself taking a deep, relaxing breath. She was tired, she couldn't ignore it any more…she had hoped that last night's deep sleep would have restored her somewhat, but the day's events had gone on to drain her once again. It was just after four now, and already she felt as if she might sleep for a week. As she sighed again, he stepped out of the shadows and, moving slowly towards her, laid a firm hand on her shoulder. She started a little, but instantly calmed, knowing it could be no other. She smiled to herself,

"Out here?"

He couldn't help but smile back at her expression,

"Always, my love, always"

She turned to face him, and they shared a conspiratorial grin. He removed his hand discreetly, instead raising an eyebrow, and nodding in the direction of the steps down to the garden,

"A walk?"

She nodded her approval and he gestured for her to lead the way.

As the wandered through the walled gardens and down through the beautifully crafted arches of magnolia, he let her babble. They spoke about Nicholas, the new addition to the palace, and Lionel, the latest disaster in royal security. For once, Clarisse began to feel her mind clearing, the overwhelming necessity of the wedding beginning to weigh less, beginning to feel more bearable. She felt her shoulders begin to relax a little, and, running a hand carefully through her hair, she was sure that her headache was beginning to ease.

As they continued their amble across the stoned pathways, she snuck a glance at him, dressed in his Armani suit, his shades tucked neatly in the breast pocket, his face animated by his account of Lionel's latest escapade. He looked wonderful. So relaxed and in control, calm and yet exuberant. For a moment she felt immensely guilty for all the pain she had caused, all the restrictions she had placed on him. For a second she felt sick to the core, and gazed off distractedly, faltering a little in her step. But it passed in a second and, as she blinked back the sudden emotion, she smiled once again.

As they reached the gazebo, she realised that they were now alone. His hand came to rest on the small of her back and, as if by instinct, she curled into his chest. But he stopped her and, gently easing her back, and guiding her to sit down alongside him on the bench, he began to speak in earnest.

As many times as she would rerun the conversation over the next weeks, she could hardly remember his words. He had spoken of friendship and trust…the duty she owed to herself. He had taken her hand in his and cryptically asked her to marry him. Immediately her heart had leapt and she had desperately fought back the lump in her throat and the tears of joy that threatened to fall…but the pressure in her head had flashed back in an instant. As she had looked into his eyes, with an unspoken promise of things to come, she had told him to wait. And she had watched as his eyes fell, as he recomposed himself and kissed her hand.

Afterwards she had locked herself discreetly in her bathroom. For once, she had managed to slip in without being seen, not even by Charlotte. As she sat on the closed toilet seat, the tears began to fall. She realised now that she would lose him, that this was the end. It would have to be the end. She could not marry Joseph.

As her hands lay clasped in her lap she realised that her fingers were shaking. Taking off the wedding band which she still wore on her left hand, she set it down on the marble sink. The skin beneath was pale and betrayed her, showing unmistakably the fragility beneath. She wondered if perhaps he would understand, whether he might see the impossibility of his request. But would he stay if he did?

OoOoOoOoOoOo

As she looked at the clock again, she noted that it was indeed nearly eleven, and he still hadn't come. Her eyes fell to the phone and she wondered if she might call him. Glancing back at the clock, she decided to wait. Moving into her bedroom, she quickly changed and curled up on the couch by the fire. By twelve, she was too sleepy to concentrate on her book any longer. With a sad sigh, she climbed into the suddenly enormous bed. Immediately, she turned onto her side and gazed at 'his' pillow. Again, the tears threatened to fall, and she ran a hand roughly through her hair. As her eyes flicked open again, they fell on the bedside table…and the envelope…and the rose. Instantly, her throat tightened, and the tears snaked down her cheeks as she smiled involuntarily. Reaching out, she delicately picked the paper up and, unfolding it, began to read,

"_My darling,_

_I'm sorry that I was not with you tonight – but I wanted to give you some space. I love you so much, but I'm afraid of pulling you too close, too soon. I hope my suggestion did not upset you too much today. I promise I will wait for you, my darling, just as long as it takes. _

_Joseph"_

Her hand was on the receiver before her mind really registered what she was doing. It only rang once before he picked up,

"Yes?"

Instantly, she felt better, and smiled weakly, her free hand brushing away the remainder of the tears,

"Joseph…"

She paused, unsure how to continue, and she could almost hear him smile at the other end,

"Cocoa, your majesty?"

She smiled, and shook her head,

"No, Joseph…just you."


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

As he quietly entered the outer room of her suite, Joe wasn't entirely sure of how he should play this one. She had sounded unmistakably shaky on the phone, and he was almost certain that she must have been crying. The thought made him deeply sad…it was the last thing he'd wanted, the very last thing. He'd spoken up now because he thought she might need the extra security - he smiled at the unintentional pun - the extra strength from knowing his commitment, but it had backfired. Perhaps he should just put it all from him mind and simply pretend that the afternoon hadn't happened. As he placed his hand on the door handle to her room, he realised that that would be impossible.

"Joseph…I…I'm sorry"

She had been standing by the fireplace, but as soon as he entered she had strode over and flung herself rather unceremoniously into his arms. Instinctively, he wrapped her tightly against him and, kissing the top of her head, stroked a hand through her hair, trying to soothe her,

"Hey…hey…darling, it's ok, I'm here." He hadn't known what to expect, but it definitely wasn't this. "You don't have to apologise, especially not to me."

He felt her sigh deeply against him, and found himself gazing into tear-stained blue eyes,

"Yes I do, most especially to you…"

He smiled, trying to lighten the mood, and, dropping a chaste kiss to her forehead, traced a finger down her cheek,

"Alright then, my love, I accept your apology. If you will accept mine?"

It was her turn now to look surprised, and dropping her chin a little, as if to contemplate his request, she nodded back.

As she nestled back into his arms, he continued in a whisper,

"It was a mistake, my darling…I should not have pushed you so soon. It was not my intention to startle you. Sometimes I forget who you are, what you have to do…"

She smiled now, and wrapped her hand delicately around his neck, pulling his lips down to hers, whispering back before sealing their reconciliation with a kiss,

"And that, my darling, is why I love you so much…"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

As the coals in the fireplace began to turn to embers, Joe contemplated dropping another log onto the pile. Glancing at his watch though, and noting that it was nearly five, he decided against it. In any case, that would require moving. She was sleeping, curled up in his arms, in the oversized sofa, and had been for some time. They had talked for an hour or so after he had arrived, about nothing in particular. She had laughed as he recounted some of Lionel's latest antics, and had mentioned a few anecdotes regarding the maids herself. Their emotional exchange over, they had slipped back into their routine. Just as if nothing had happened.

And now, as the sun was beginning to rise over the hills, Joe was left wondering just what _had_ happened…and, more to the point, what he might do about it. She was clearly happy with him. Yes, he was confident that it wasn't he that was the problem. Could this all be simply that she was afraid of what the people might think? Or was there something more? That was a thought into which he was hardly willing to delve any deeper. They had barely spoken of Rupert after his death, even on that night…that night when everything had fallen back into place…

Joe smiled, remembering how they had stayed up all night talking, the promises they had made, how he had sat, just as he was now, as dawn was breaking over the San Francisco skyline, and held her, sleeping, in his arms.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Flashback – PD1

As Joe had waltzed the young princess in his arms around the makeshift ballroom, he couldn't help but feel the eyes that kept falling upon his face. Of course, as soon as he looked up, she looked away, down to her paperwork, or some imaginary piece of lint on her skirt, but he knew. He smiled…until a rather sharp jolt in the ribs wrenched him back to the task in hand.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay…Again"

They danced some more, and it was with a swell of pride that he watched her execute a near-perfect turn, and the wide grin that plastered itself across her face as she realised it. He was developing a rather large soft spot for this particular young lady…right from the first moment he had seen something of her grandmother in her spirit, and she was learning extremely fast. He smiled back and, wiggling his eyebrows to make her laugh, deposited her back in front of Clarisse's table.

"Very well, you may go…"

As the girl raced off down the marbled floor, he seriously feared for her ankles, but no sooner had he started to worry, than she had slammed the door behind her and sped off to meet her friends.

Suddenly aware they were alone, his attention turned back to Clarisse, who was absent-mindedly shuffling her papers. She was busy and preoccupied. He knew she'd been overdoing it recently and, as per usual, was vehemently denying this every time that Charlotte suggested it. He also knew that she was finding their 'situation' draining. Since their conversation in the car, after Philippe's funeral three months ago, they had not discussed their feelings for one another. He knew she wasn't ready, and not only did he not want to push her, but moreover, he wasn't sure that he was ready himself. So they had kept their respective distances. It was undeniable that there was something more between them, the occasional caresses, the lingering gazes, the rare smiles that they reserved for one another…but all these things had been carefully controlled. Not showing too much, not giving too much.

Here in San Francisco, she seemed so much happier. Meeting Mia had done her the world of good, and this new project, albeit a tiring one, had, without doubt, forced Clarisse to move on. She was exhausted, yes, but was still smiling. And so now he wondered if it was time? There were, after all, so many reasons why it was not. But would it not perhaps always be like that? Wouldn't there always be reasons to run rather than face the music? Something inside him seemed to suddenly change and, instead of ruefully shaking his head and walking away, he decided that it was time. Instantly, he felt better. As he smoothed down the sleeve of his shirt casually, he was surprised to find that the decision itself had been the hardest part. Now, as he watched her, knowing what he would do, he felt strangely relaxed, on automatic pilot almost.

He smiled to himself and, stepping gingerly closer to the table by which she stood, reached out and pressed the button on the stereo. As he reached across her body he heard her sharp intake of breath, and sensed the way her shoulders immediately tensed. He stepped back, and, with a voice whose steadiness masked his now racing heart,

"You've been wearing black too long…"

For a moment she seemed not to hear, her eyes fixed on the stereo, which had started to play the now immortalised 'Wango', but then she turned. And, thank god, she smiled.

Without questioning her, he simply took her hand and led her to the centre of the room, his fingers suddenly on fire at her delicate touch. She understood immediately and, as his arm wrapped assuredly around her waist, she fell into step with him, and they danced.

It was so simple and yet so complicated. They both knew the steps in their sleep and fell naturally in time to the music. His hand was stroking tiny circles on her back, caressing her, and yet hardly moving. To begin with, her fingers lay still in his palm but, as the music played on, and she began to relax against his chest a little, she traced her thumb down over the back of his. Her own arm rested lightly across his warm back, stroking agonisingly across his shirt with each movement.

From this position he could not see her eyes, indeed, his own were beginning to slide shut at the wonderful feeling of holding her once again. Almost imperceptibly, he could feel her relaxing against him, and slowly, painfully slowly, he guided her gently across to rest fully against him. Still holding her hand in his own, he withdrew the arm from her waist and ran it calmly down her shoulder.

And then she missed a step.

As she faltered, he resisted the urge to cover for her – after all, it was not as if they had anything to hide anymore – and instead spun her out, just as he had done little more than five minutes earlier with Mia. That little boogie though had been mere child's play. This particular dance was entirely adult.

As she spun expertly back into his arms, Joe placed a hand at the small of her back and pulled her into him. She gasped a little at his sudden movement, and, instead of twisting right round to arrive back in the 'correct' position, she found herself finally facing him. For a moment it was as if they had fallen out of time. Neither seemed to notice that the music had clicked off, that the dance was officially over. As their eyes met she studied his face intently, searching his expression, trying to read him. The hand that gently clasped her elbow, that had pulled her towards him, now stroked slowly up her arm, and came to rest on her shoulder. He smiled, and again she searched his eyes, not quite believing what was happening.

As his lips brushed almost imperceptibly against hers, Clarisse felt her eyes instinctively flicker shut. His lips were remarkably soft and warm against her skin and, in spite of its fleetingness, his kiss was remarkably intense. In that briefest feeling of his mouth upon hers, Clarisse felt her heart actually flutter.

Her hand was shaking slightly, he noticed, as she laid it to rest delicately on his cheek, her thumb idly caressing the corner of his mouth,

"Joseph…are…?" she faltered a little, and looked down at his chest where her other hand now lay. She felt his free arm curl around her back and the slight pressure urged her on, "…are you sure?"

He smiled again, pleased at her concern, pleased at the honest certainty of his reply. Quickly, he dropped another chaste kiss to her lips, drawing back almost immediately and whispered,

"Yes, my darling, absolutely, entirely and completely."

The tears that had been threatening to fall for weeks began to well in her eyes and she returned his gentle kiss with a light caress of her own…and then, stepping closer brought her head to rest against his chest.

"You know, I wondered if this might never happen…"

He pulled her even closer and ran a hand tenderly through her hair,

"I once promised you I would never leave you…"

She smiled against his chest and, realising that she no longer had to hide her tears, looked up at him,

"Oh Joseph…"

As their lips met once again in a familiar kiss, both were oblivious to the smiling figure of Charlotte retreating silently into the background, hugging her sides with excitement. His hands ran through her hair and down to caress the nape of her neck, as their mouths began to dance. Each kiss grew in confidence, each a little deeper. Wrapped in each other's arms…finally…they became entirely oblivious to everything outside themselves. It was only the insistent vibration of Joe's cell phone, still nestled in his shirt pocket, which eventually broke them apart many minutes later.

He smiled, unable to keep the faint hint of irritation from his eyes. Flipping the phone open, and looking apologetically at Clarisse, he growled into the earpiece,

"Yes…"

As he listened to the unfortunate caller on the other end, grunting occasionally, Clarisse couldn't help but bring his free hand to her lips and gracefully kiss him as he had done so many times for her. He smiled, in spite of himself, and instantly his manner changed. A few more seconds, and he hung up, slipped the phone away and, quickly drawing her back against him, kissed her forehead,

"Now…where were we?"

She raised an eyebrow playfully and, tapping his lower lip with her index finger, indicated the spot. He began to move closer, but then gently she pushed him back, reality rapidly encroaching,

"Darling…I have an appointment in two minutes…Charlotte will come and look for me…we…" She paused, looking carefully into his eyes, not sure how to phrase it. Instead, he finished for her,

"…we don't want to get caught?…I understand…and, my love, I agree. I mean, just think of what it might do to my reputation…"

She giggled and the sound almost made him tear up himself. Instead, he settled with a smile, a careful sweep of his thumb under her slightly mascara-stained eye, and a final chaste kiss on the nose.

He had just pulled back as Charlotte stepped into the room,

"Ah, there you are your Majesty…the attaché has just arrived and the two German diplomats are waiting in the entrance lounge. Shall I direct them to your office?"

Tearing her suddenly bright eyes away from Joseph, Clarisse smiled and nodded her approval,

"Very good, my dear, thank you. I will come and greet them immediately. Tell me, Charlotte, how long do you think this will take?"

"I'm not sure, your Majesty, though it may be a while. There are quite a few issues to discuss.", she paused, noting with some quiet amusement how the Queen's face fell at this news, "Though I have told to the chef to prepare dinner as usual, at 7. I know that both diplomats have to fly back this evening, so it can't run beyond that."

Clarisse sighed and nodded again, following in the direction of Charlotte's departing form,

"Very well, I'm coming…" She began to leave but, just before she reached the door she turned back,

"Joseph?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

"Would you be able to come to my office after dinner to look over something for me?"

He smiled, and winked quickly,

"Of course, it would be my pleasure…"


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

A/N OK, this is turning into a HUGE flashback…but hey, as things get closer to the present we remember them better, right? ;o) The next instalment will be up soonish, and will finish off this episode – the night here is not yet over, and the happy couple have lots to discuss! Read and review if that takes your fancy – I'm always encouraged by any response!

That night after dinner, he had found himself 'hastening' discreetly to her room. As much as his heart was racing, as much as his mind was on overdrive, he knew he had to take this slowly. For both their sakes. Glancing at his watch, he hoped she would be alone now. He'd slipped back to his room at the end of his shift and quickly showered and changed…not quite sure what to expect from the evening, not even sure what he wanted. Now, stalking quickly down the empty corridors, he was hardly any nearer to an answer. She had relaxed with him earlier, but he knew her too well to assume that it was that simple. She was a beautifully complex woman and almost dangerously fragile beneath that controlled exterior. Not many people had seen her fall apart…but then again, he thought with a wry smile, the same could most probably be said of him. There had been too many screw-ups in the past and, god help him, this time he had to do it right…had to make sure they both got things right.

She would be nervous, of that he was sure. Terribly, endearingly, nervous. He could picture her now, her hands busy, fidgeting with the things on her desk, with her clothes, her hair…anything to stop them shaking. He smiled, and looked down at his own slightly trembling palms. What a pair…

Knocking lightly on the outer door to her study, he stepped back a pace. He was pleased to note that she had obviously dismissed the guards. Of course, normally he would have been annoyed by her frivolous disregard for his insistence on constant surveillance, but tonight he would forgive her. After all, tonight she would be in safe hands, he thought, allowing himself a little smile.

He heard the rustle of her shuffling papers, and then the ever-so-slightly shaky 'come in'. Pushing the door open carefully, his hand resting on the handle perhaps a little longer than usual, he stepped into the room. As he had expected, she was sitting at her desk, her glasses propped endearingly on the end of her nose, her pen still uncapped and twisting unconsciously between her fingers. He smiled, and, he was pleased to note, she placed the pen down on the desk and took off her glasses. He had known she would be working…she always was. He knew how she hid behind that desk, he understood the security it offered her against things she couldn't control.

Not that Clarisse wasn't aware of this. Not at all. As she carefully slipped off her glasses and folded them back into the case, she could almost hear her heart beating, it felt that loud. All evening she had waited for him…all evening she had been inundated with unexpected visitors, the cook, Charlotte, Martin asking whether she required a car the tomorrow, Charlotte again, wishing her goodnight…it felt as if everyone in the embassy had traipsed through her damn office…everyone but him.

She wasn't angry, far from it. But she was tired. Today had been as wonderful as it had been draining, but now, after four hours of diplomatic meetings, and an evening of interruptions, she could feel her eyes beginning to grow heavy.

But when he had smiled at her, she had forgotten all that and, she was almost ashamed to admit it, felt like a giddy teenager. She knew him, knew him better than anyone else in the world, and yet she still felt as if everything were new. New, and just a little bit dangerous.

As he stepped behind her, Joe smiled at the reading material on the desk…he'd often teased her before about her secret penchant for celebrity magazines and he was pleased that she had not stopped on his account. Gently placing his hands on her shoulders, touched as she shuddered slightly, he began to massage her undoubtedly tense muscles. Still they hadn't spoken, and yet this silence of theirs was not an awkward one. Words simply weren't important.

Clarisse couldn't help but relax back into his strong, yet tender touch, immediately feeling a warmth spreading across her back, soothing her tiredness. As her eyes gently closed, she was surprised to feel a tightness building in her throat. For a moment, it was as if nothing had ever happened, as if everything was as it once had been. She tried to smile, but tears came anyway, slowly gliding down her cheeks. As he bent to kiss her neck, he heard the breath catch in her throat. Her hand snaked up to stroke his cheek, and he pressed another kiss to her fingers.

He could see her tears, and for a moment he was concerned…but he understood. God, he could even feel his own eyes growing slightly moist. Kissing his way from her cheek to her hairline, he wrapped both his arms firmly around her, still unable to look at her beautiful eyes, but desperately wanting to give her space. Clarisse understood what he was doing and silently thanked him for it. Joseph had always understood so well her need to be…well, she couldn't quite describe it. Not detached, exactly, but outside, somehow. A moment of space before she lost herself once more in him.

As his mouth reached her ear, she shivered in anticipation, her hand still delicately caressing his cheek. Tenderly, he brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear and, smiling to himself, glancing down at the magazine still sitting guiltily open on her desk and whispered gently,

"Hello…"

Of course, she hadn't got it straight away. But leant over her shoulder, his fingers now casually leafing through the pages, his cheek still pressed warmly against her own, she couldn't help but smile. Always the joker. And thank god for that. Without his humour she sometimes wondered what would have become of her, without that occasional, well-timed laugh, would she have coped so very well?

The ice well and truly broken, Joe began to relax more. His knees were seriously objecting now to his kneeling on the ground, but he no longer cared. Kissing her cheek again, he whispered softly,

"Are you okay?"

She smiled, turning a little towards him, his lips brushing gently across her cheek, to the side of her mouth,

"Yes." She paused, twisting in her seat until she was finally facing him, placing both hands now on his cheeks, looking straight into his beautiful, deep eyes, "Yes, more than okay…perfect."

Now he took the opportunity to carefully wipe away the tears that were still glistening on her cheeks, pleased that she met his smile with one of her own. She watched him intently as he took her hands in his and raised them both to his lips.

"Me too. I've been thinking about you all day…"

She smiled, endearingly blushing, and yet just a little intrigued.

"Really?"

He nodded, stroking her fingers,

"Mmm…you make it quite difficult to concentrate, you know, my dear. I mean…I fear that I may have signed Martin's holiday request for three weeks without even noticing this evening…"

She giggled, and his eyes sparkled,

"So that's why he was looking so pleased with himself…"

"He was here?"

She sighed, lacing her fingers through his,

"Everyone was here this evening…"

He looked up from their joined hands and wondered for a moment if she were cross. She yawned quietly and he smiled back…no, just tired. It had been a long day. Pausing a little while, wondering how to phrase things, he began to cautiously stand. Still holding her hands, he pulled her gently up to stand in front of him. She looked up at him, a little cautious maybe, and then brought her head to rest against his chest. Releasing one of her hands, he stroked the nape of her neck,

"Clarisse…we have to talk…maybe not now, but soon…"

She nodded, her free hand looping contentedly around his waist,

"I know…but not tonight. I'm too tired to think straight…but…but, Joseph, will you stay with me?"

He sighed, kissing her forehead, and then, gradually easing her chin towards him, their lips met. It was a chaste kiss, but of remarkable intensity…for a moment Joe wondered if he were falling and found his arm wrapping itself around her shoulders to steady himself. She smiled against his lips, loving the fact that she could finally give in to that which her body had craved for the past months. As they broke apart he dropped a final kiss to her nose,

"Of course…always, my love."


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

As he leant across her carefully, reaching to switch off the lamp on her desk, he couldn't help but feel her tremble. Shrouded now in semi-darkness, the only light coming from the door to her bedroom, he pulled her to him once again.

Her eyes surely closed, he felt her bury herself in his chest, and noticed that her breathing had become a little unsteady. Like him, she was nervous. Terribly nervous. For a moment he waited, simply holding her close, casually stroking her back, and then he spoke, his words nothing more than whispers in the still room,

"Clarisse…Clarisse, my darling…it's just me."

He felt her shift a little, her hands coming to rest against his chest, and she lifted her head slightly. In the dim light, her eyes were wide and her cheeks still glistening. She reached up and stroked a hand across his cheek, caressing his lips with her thumb, her voice catching slightly as she spoke,

"I just can't quite believe it, not yet. It's almost too much…"

He smiled, kissing her thumb gently,

"It's always been too much with us, my love…"

She nodded, seriously for a moment, and then, smiling, reached down and found his hand, entangling her fingers in his.

OoOoOoOo

As he waited in her bedroom, Joseph couldn't help but wonder at how she had spent her evenings previously. The room was comfortable, yes, but there was little in the way of distraction. No tv, no music…simply the book by her bed and, he noted, with a little shake of the head, an ominous looking pile of paperwork on a coffee table. And yet she had retired to her rooms early most evenings since they had been in San Francisco. Stepping over to the balcony doors, he opened one carefully and stepped out. The night-time air was still warm and thick with the heady scent of roses. Gazing out over the garden, he smiled at Clarisse's creativity. She really was rather the expert when it came to matters of horticulture. A few more weeks and the garden would be perfect. Everything would be perfect.

Wandering back into the room, he was still preoccupied though. Her nervous reaction had not surprised him but nonetheless it had concerned him. Feeling the butterflies surface once again, he couldn't help but wonder if he was right in pushing her now. But was he pushing her? He didn't know… So long had they danced around each other…so long since they had simply relaxed with each other. And now he found himself afraid they would never find that easy relaxation again.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, with his head in his hands, he struggled to process the last few hours. In all honesty, he had wanted to talk this evening, there and then. To get everything out into the open, to clear his mind, and, he thought ruefully, his conscience. He had wanted her to understand…wanted to make sure that she had understood. Before all this. But now it was too late, it was not the time, she was tired. He sighed, suddenly feeling weary himself. Screwing his eyes up, he rubbed his temples and groaned softly.

As a cool hand came to rest carefully on his shoulder, he almost jumped,

"Joseph?"

She wasn't changed yet, had simply taken off her jewellery and her jacket, and now she stood next to him, the look of concern clearly visible on her face.

He smiled, and gently brought a hand to rest on hers, stroking her fingers reassuringly,

"I'm fine…just tired."

She looked at him closely, seeing the lie, not knowing whether to push it. He saw her recognition, and, smiling weakly, drew her hand to his lips, kissing her tenderly.

"I know…honestly, Clarisse, it's nothing. I had just hoped we would talk…"

She sighed, her eyes still full of concern, and he continued,

"But not tonight…we are both exhausted. Tomorrow."

After a long pause, she nodded, slowly, her eyes sincere,

"Tomorrow"

OoOoOoOo

After she had disappeared again into the bathroom, he slipped off his shoes and socks, and set them carefully at the foot of the bed. As he padded round the room once again, he realised that he had come rather foolishly unprepared. Not only was he without a change of clothes for the following day but, and slightly more pressingly, he was without any nightwear. For a moment he wondered if he could make a quick dash back to his room, but soon realised that would be impossible. Glancing at the bathroom door, he contemplated knocking and explaining…but then decided against it. He could sleep in his boxers.

Slipping off his trousers and his shirt, he moved towards the bed, and threw back the covers. Shaking his head a little at the enormous mountain of pillows that Clarisse was so fond of, he began to shift some onto the floor. As he moved the last few, however, he was struck by the flash of a familiar fabric. Shifting another pillow, he was genuinely shocked to find what he immediately recognised to be one of his pyjama shirts lying there. Picking it up and unfolding it, he tried to remember the last time he had worn it. It had been months…no, nearer years. He couldn't remember. He remembered throwing the bottoms away several months ago, unable to find its matching shirt. He had assumed that housekeeping must have misplaced it, somewhere between his room and the laundry.

But she had had it all along. For a few seconds, he sat, just contemplating the shirt. As it began to sink in that she must have kept it…slept with it…all this time, he couldn't help a weak smile from forming on his lips. All this time.

OoOoOoOo

In the bathroom, Clarisse was looking at herself in the mirror. Freshly showered and wearing her favourite white cotton pyjamas, she felt much better. As she carefully removed the remainder of her eye makeup from her lids, she wondered for a moment if she might reapply it. She had actually got as far as to reach into her makeup bag before she decided against it. Her hands were still a little shaky, and the liner would no doubt come out all wrong…but more than that. This was Joseph. He had seen her scream and shout, cry and fall to pieces. He had seen her frozen and shivering, and hot and uncomfortable. He had seen her, he _saw_ her, it was that simple. And so she replaced the liner in the bag and decided to brush her teeth.

OoOoOoOoO

As she walked back into the room, Clarisse was instantly relaxed by the dimmed lights. She was still nervous, her heart, as clichéd as it might sound, was quite simply racing, but it was getting easier. Joseph was sitting up in bed, pretending to read her book. She smiled at his apparent ease, and almost instantly regretted it as tears began to prick once again. He was wearing the shirt.

For a split second she felt strangely guilty…at the comfort she had drawn from him without his consent, the way she had clung to that shirt as she had so often cried herself to sleep. But then he looked up and, dropping the book onto the floor, gave her a tender smile and a cheekier wink.

"Yes…it most definitely looks better on you, Joseph"

He laughed, and casually throwing back the covers next to him, gestured for her to join him.

"Ah yes, well, I was about to ask you a few questions about that."

His tone was teasingly stern, and, as he held out his hand, she stepped closer, and allowed him to draw her into the bed.

"You see, I've been looking for this shirt for quite some time, young lady…and I did have rather firm words with some of the domestic staff about its mysterious vanishing..."

She giggled softly and, still holding his hand in hers, lay back onto the soft, cool pillow, and looked up at him. To her surprise, his eyes were glistening with tears and, just as she was about to voice her concern, he looped his free arm around her, and lifted her seemingly effortlessly to lie against his chest.

"I'm sorry…it's just…well, it's been so long since I've seen you laugh like that…"

He kissed the top of her head, gently letting his lips smooth over her hair, explaining simply,

"I've missed it."

Turning carefully, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him tenderly on the lips,

"And I've missed you, Joseph."

As they slid down to lie flat on the pillows, their arms still wrapped around each other, both let out shaky sighs. For a long moment, they simply looked deep into each other's eyes, lost in the moment, knowing that words would be superfluous. Their exchanged gaze was eloquent enough. Finally, brushing a strand of hair from her face, Joseph began to whisper,

"Forgive me, my darling…for everything? For the things that I meant, and the things that I didn't?"

She smiled, snuggling closer, until her forehead was pressed against his, her lips millimetres from his own,

"I forgive you…I forgave you long ago." She paused, not sure where to begin, not having anticipated this just yet, "Can you? I…I know the pain I caused you, the things I asked of you…I understand…I know why you left, why…"

She broke off, realising that she was babbling, and he kissed her quickly, his action far more efficient that any words.

"I never left Clarisse…"

Her eyes opened and looked into his deep brown ones, struck immediately by his honesty.

"Perhaps you should have…"

"Never."

She smiled, and kissed him slowly, savouring the feel of his lips against hers once more. Finally.

"And…my darling…just so we are clear on this…" He kissed her nose lightly, teasing her, but with such care that it was almost heartbreaking, "I forgive you. And, now, darling Clarisse, we should sleep."

With that, he pulled her against him again, and wrapping his arms about her, began to stroke her back. She yawned quietly, unable to think of any reasonable protest, and, shifting a little, her leg coming to lie between his, began to feel herself growing sleepy. Pressing her lips to his chest, she kissed him goodnight, and proceeded to drift away, unsure whether the "I love you" came from his lips or her own…

sorry this took so long - hope you all like it, now it's finally up! Please review if you have time. Next episode will take us through the morning after in San Francisco, and then coming back to the present and the big refusal scene...woohoo!


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

As the pale early morning light filtered into the bedroom, Joseph began to stir. His body was well accustomed to rising for his early five o'clock shift, and he knew better than to try and sleep any longer. He had slept precious little…they had talked late into the night and, as she slept in his arms, it had taken him a long time to dare close his eyes. It had all been too much…just as she had said.

Raising a hand to his eyes then, lazily rubbing the sleep away, he was genuinely surprised to find Clarisse, propped up on an elbow, looking down at him.

The initial surprise registered, he raised an eyebrow and parted his lips to speak…only to be met by a quick kiss, over as soon as it had begun. Pulling back to her former position, she continued to watch him, contemplating him, it seemed. He smiled, and again attempted a look of puzzlement. Her lips curled a little at the edges, and once again he treated to the fleeting warmth of her mouth on his. This time, however, he was ready, and catching her head in his palm, drew her closer, deepening the kiss.

As they broke apart finally, his smile had broadened to a wide grin, and again, he raised an eyebrow,

"Clarisse?"

She smiled, stroking his lower lip with her index finger,

"Just wanted to start things on the right foot…"

He kissed her finger, closing his eyes as she tenderly brought her palm to rest against his cheek.

Many moments passed before he opened them again, but when he did, she was still watching him intently.

"Am I so very interesting?"

Another smile, that same absorbed, concentrated expression, sweeping his face, resting on his eyes,

"Absolutely captivating, my darling"

He sighed, his own expression turning to one of contemplation,

"It's such a long time since you've called me that…it's good to hear. It makes me feel needed, Clarisse."

For a moment, from her expression, he wondered if she might cry. But she didn't. Simply closing her eyes for an instant, registering the impact of his words, the unspoken need behind them, and then returning to him, nodding gently, her hand coming to rest lightly on his chest.

He smiled again, reassuring her that he had meant what she had understood. For too long he had hidden his emotions from her, desperate to maintain the same stoicism she had been schooled in since birth. For him, it could not work…and it did not, that much had been made plain by past events. Indeed, even she had faltered. Perhaps the past had meant a level of secrecy that was unusual, to say the least, but somewhere…somewhere they had both got lost in who they were trying to protect, to hide their emotions from. In the end, they had nearly lost everything.

"And I like to say it to you, my darling…I should never have stopped saying it."

He smiled weakly, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her down to lie alongside him. As he idly stroked her hair, soothing the wounds of the past, perhaps, he began to realise that the almost overwhelming need of the night before to discuss everything, to talk it all through, had all but evaporated. She understood…she really did. He just had one question left.

"Clarisse…after Rupert died…did you ever hate me?"

She shifted a little, and looked up as she answered, her eyes clear and honest,

"Yes…I did. For a moment. Perhaps for more than a moment…"

He was silent, unsure how to respond. Still she watched him, her eyes searching his, realising for the first time perhaps the profound logic that had been behind her hatred,

"But it was myself that I hated, Joseph. I'm afraid, my darling, though, at that point, you were all I had left of myself…I…I was so very tired, so 'out of it', as Amelia would say, that I didn't see myself any more. I didn't see what I was for…and so I attacked the only person who still held part of me."

He held her gaze throughout, holding her hand tenderly, listening closer to her words than he would have thought possible.

"I…I've only just realised why I did it…"

He smiled, bring her hand to his lips, kissing her gently, soothing her,

"I wondered…I mean, I suppose I hoped that that might have been the reason…"

She looked slightly surprised, and then relaxed, clearly pleased by his insight, snuggling in deeper under the covers, entirely at home with him beside her.

"And I, Clarisse, was I too cruel to make you wait…to make us wait? That day in the car…no, before then…the night I returned from Spain, I heard you on the telephone to Pierre."

"What did I say?"

He sighed, pulling her closer, stroking her back,

"Nothing…nothing and everything. You said you were fine…"

She kissed his chest, remembering perfectly how the tears had silently run down her face that evening as she had lied to her son. Of course he had known, so had Philippe, of that much she was certain. And in a way she was pleased.

"You said you were fine, and I felt sick…I couldn't understand how you could believe that, how you could switch everything off so suddenly. I…" he paused, wondering if he was saying too much, deciding that he must continue, "…I realised I didn't know you. I thought that the Clarisse I knew was not the queen everyone else saw…I couldn't cope when you became her. I suppose, until the night of Philippe's death, I didn't realise that she was simply a part of you. That night I saw my Clarisse again."

She kissed him again, swallowing hard as she did so, not wanting to cry. Still his hand stroked her back carefully, his thumb caressing the nape of her neck.

"I couldn't stand it because the woman I had loved seemed gone…couldn't cope when she began to re-emerge. As much as you might have pushed me away, my love, I couldn't lose you from my mind….God, sometimes I even thought I was losing my mind."

His voice faltered a little, and she shifted up the pillow to lie facing him. They shared a smile as each registered their expression perfectly mirrored. She touched a kiss to his nose, and felt him relax.

"Enough confessions for one morning?"

He smiled thoughtfully, and nodding almost imperceptibly, began to kiss away the tears that stained her cheeks. Bringing her arms around him, pulling his body properly against her, Clarisse shivered involuntarily. Instinctively, his own arms found her waist, his warm hands stroking up underneath her pyjama shirt.

As their mouths met, both were struck by the intense familiarity of the gesture…and yet, it was all so new, so different. They were different.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

A/N Well, I don't think the film dealt with the whole rejected proposal thing very well. The plot presented there simply wouldn't have happened, at least not in my opinion. So here's a little shot at why Joe might have run... though, and I'm sorry for this, this is only the first half. I will try and update some more tonight.

(this is back into the present – i.e., a week or so before the wedding in PD2)

As Clarisse stirred, she wasn't surprised to find Joseph already dressing and preparing to leave. In spite of her wonderful night's sleep, she was still feeling drained and, whilst he had to be back on duty by seven, she could enjoy another half hour in bed. Sitting up a little, moving a few pillows, she watched him trying to find his belt in vain.

"Try the sofa in the sitting room, darling…"

He started a little at her voice and then smiling broadly, looked over towards the bed.

"Ah, sleeping beauty doth awake…"

She laughed at his attempt at an English accent, and fell back onto the soft pillows,

"No, she doth not…she doth wish to sleep for at least another week."

He chuckled too and, abandoning the belt-search for a moment, wandered over to where she was lying, clearly pretending to sleep. Kneeling carefully, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and eased back to judge its effect. Her lips were curled into a smile, though her eyes were still shut…

"Is that the best you can do, Charming?"

He laughed and then, composing himself a little, kissed her tenderly on the lips, gently easing his mouth onto hers. As her hand came to wrap around his neck he swept an arm under her shoulders and lifted her gently to sit up. Breaking after reluctantly, he smiled again,

"There. Now you simply must get up."

OoOoOoOoOoO

Almost a week had passed from his proposal, and it was wedding day minus two. The week had gone as well as could reasonably have been expected. Joseph, to his credit, had refrained from mentioning his proposal and Clarisse had appreciated his understanding. The night before the parade, after the garden party and Mia's little tantrum, he had gone to join her in her suite. As he stepped in, he had overheard her talking to Maurice,

"…or are you angry with me too?"

As the cheeky little beast left her standing, he had entered the room and reassured her that at least he was not angry with her. She had smiled, accepting his embrace warmly and, for the moment, at least, had calmed.

The parade had gone well, in spite of Clarisse's fears. Mia had been wonderful, as he had predicted and, for a few hours that evening the Queen had managed a wander around the gardens. Of course, he had accompanied her, his hand slipping into hers as soon as he could be sure they were beyond the sight of the cameras, but they had not spoken of his suggestion of the previous week. He couldn't pretend that he wasn't a little hurt by it, but he thought he understood. As they walked casually through the beautiful trees by the lake, his fingers coming to rest on the back of her neck, stroking down to her shoulders, he had reassured her that everything was going to plan.

"Of course, Joseph, I know you are right…it's just…"

He smiled, and gallantly raising her hand to his lips, kissed her tenderly.

"I know…it's just everything."

She laughed at his perception, his wonderful way with words, and then grew quiet as she pondered his ability to read her.

"You really are rather clever you know, my love."

He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows to make her laugh,

"No, I'm serious…I'm going to have to learn to watch you, you can read me like a book."

Again he smiled, trying to diffuse the seriousness lying perilously close behind her words,

"But you are a singularly interesting book, my dear."

OoOoOoOoOoO

And so the week had progressed. The morning after the parade, Clarisse found herself waking more tired than even. Two days to the wedding and she was beginning to wonder if she might not collapse of exhaustion first. Again, she had slept, but her dreams had been filled with the wedding, the arrangements, the guests, the flowers…everything. Finally, at around three, Joseph had left her suite to take his turn on the early shift and, since then, she had not really managed to relax completely.

At seven thirty she gave up and took a quick shower. After dressing, she ordered some tea and then wandered down to her office. At eight thirty Charlotte arrived, with florists and caterers in tow. One by one, Clarisse met them all, making last minute changes, altering quantities and the like. At eleven Charlotte came back with more tea and they began on the seating plans. Two hours later, Clarisse sent her assistant off to find herself some lunch whilst she finished off the order of ceremony and the hymns to be sung in the church. Part of her had rather wished Amelia would want to be involved in this, it was, after all, _her_ wedding, but then again, it was no small task for such a young girl. And so sighing rather louder than she would normally have allowed herself, Clarisse set about the music, hoping Mia wouldn't mind too much if she just picked her favourites.

At two, the phone rang and a call from Amelia was put through to her office. As she picked up, Joseph, who had enquired politely in the kitchens whether the Queen had managed to remember lunch, was on his way to direct her, by force, if necessary, to the nearest plate of biscuits at least. Arriving at the slightly ajar door just as she answered, he decided to give her a moment before entering.

"Hello darling, how is it all going – does it still look perfect?"

Mia giggled and began to babble enthusiastically down the line,

"Oh yes, Grandma, it's wonderful…though perhaps a little tight after those burgers last night…something tells me that I might be having salad this evening!"

Clarisse chuckled, struggling to remember the last time she had seen Amelia eat something so healthy as a salad…

"So, Grandma, did you speak to Pierre yet, is he coming?"

Clarisse swallowed and admitted that she hadn't, not yet.

"Oh come on, I'm sure he'll want to be there…it would be great to finally meet him. I know that you guys argued in the past, but surely he'd want to at least get an invite?"

She hesitated, remembering the bitter words they had exchanged before she had left for San Francisco, his criticism of her, how had he put it?…dragging a poor innocent girl into their mess…but she was right, it was time.

"I think you are right, my dear, perhaps now is the right time after all. As much as I have avoided the issue over the last few weeks in particular, perhaps it is the time to find some resolution."

Outside the room, Joe couldn't help but hear her words, their meaning not lost on him.

"You make it sound like a funeral, Grandma, won't he be pleased to come to the party at least?"

She smiled, lifted by her granddaughter's enthusiasm,

"Yes, darling, I suppose he will be rather, um, pleased…"

"And you?"

She hesitated, the emotions she was feeling threatening to spill out more than she would have liked,

"Me…You know, Mia, I can hardly bear it not seeing him, it's crazy, but I never have been very good at it, all these years. Yes, I shall be happier than words can express…"

Joe's heart seemed to miss a beat, and he could hardly contain his elation. It took every ounce of restraint not to throw open the doors and sweep her into his arms there and then.

"Oh Grandma, you're such a big softie…"

Clarisse smiled, amused at the expression,

"Yes, sweetheart, I suppose I am…but that kind of love stays with you whatever…whatever you might say to each other."

Turning away from the door, Joe glanced at his watch. Ten past two. If he sprinted back to his room, grabbed the ring and then 'hastened' back to the office, he would have time to surprise her before Charlotte got back. In a flash, he was gone.

OoOoOoOoO

Ten minutes later, though, he was still pacing in his room. He wanted so much for this to be perfect, and now, now the time was here, once again, he couldn't begin to think of the words to say what he so wanted her to hear. Slipping the small box into his jacket pocket, he sighed with frustration. He should've just gone in there and then, surprised her with a kiss or something. Charlotte would be back with her now, there was no doubt of that, and he didn't want to cause a scene. No, he would be patient. Just for a few hours more.

In spite of his frustration, though, he couldn't help but smile broadly. She had said it…hell, she'd even admitted it to Mia. He didn't quite understand the significance of today, but who was he to complain if today was somehow better than yesterday and tomorrow. Pulling the small box out of his pocket, he couldn't help but take another peek, half to reassure himself that it were still there, half in sheer delight at what it would soon symbolise. It was a small and delicate diamond, exquisitely cut…and it would sparkle on her finger beautifully. He already knew that she would love it.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

As he paced round the intricately laid out box-hedged garden, Joseph decided that enough was enough. The small box still hung conspicuously in his jacket pocket and, as the sun began to set over the hills, he decided he couldn't take any more of this anticipation.

Turning quickly, his heel crunching satisfyingly in the gravel, he made for her office.

OoOoOoOoO

As for Clarisse, her day had gone from tiring to downright exhausting. It was just after six-thirty, and she and Charlotte had only just finished the arrangements for the evening dinner, before the ball…the final details of which still remained to be dealt with. She sighed loudly, raising a hand to her knitted brows. Yes, they were getting there…slowly, but it was all so exasperating. She glanced out of the window and noted ruefully the beauty of the sunset this evening.

Her legs were a little stiff when she finally stood from the desk, and Charlotte couldn't help but notice.

"You did take a break at lunch, didn't you, your Majesty?"

Clarisse was in a world of her own, and looking back distractedly at her assistant, only managed a mumble.

Charlotte repeated her question, this time a little more formally, and was unsurprised by Clarisse's response.

"It's alright Charlotte, I'm going to eat something now, I promise…"

Charlotte smiled, the concern still lingering in her eyes.

"Have we finished for this evening, my dear?"

"Yes, your Majesty, I think we have."

Clarisse smiled, some of the tension noticeably fading,

"So then, Charlotte, you may personally escort me to my dinner, if you so desire…."

OoOoOoOoO

As they reached the main hall, Charlotte suddenly remembered the table settings and the music samples. For a moment she hesitated, not wanting to load more work onto the obviously already exhausted queen, but then, remembering their schedule, thought better of it,

"Um, your Majesty, there is still the music selections to be made, and then, if you have time, the place settings to be approved."

Glancing over at the table set out for her, Clarisse couldn't help but feel her heart sink a little. But she smiled politely and nodded to her aide. After all, it was hardly Charlotte's fault.

"Thank you, Charlotte…and I think that will be all."

As Charlotte trotted off to her dinner, no doubt, Clarisse cast her eye over the various options. To be honest, none particularly pleased her. The first was far too complex, ostentatious even…and the second, well, that just looked messy. No, really, they would not do. She sighed deeply. Another thing to deal with in the morning. Picking up a knife and holding it to the light, she wondered whether it had been polished recently. Not recently enough.

Rubbing her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara, she found herself craving a strong cup of tea or, to be quite frank, an even stronger glass of whisky. Not yet though. As her fingers found the button on the expensive stereo, she couldn't help the smile which spread gently across her lips.

OoOoOoOoO

As he pulled back the organza drape and stepped into the darkened room, Joseph smiled to himself. The music, their music, wafted in the air and spilled out into the corridor, and she was dancing by herself. For a moment he was transfixed, aware that she hadn't seen him, realising that this was finally it. Such perfection. He stood only for mere seconds, and yet to him it felt like an eternity, so lost was he in the sight before him. And now, knowing that she would be his, knowing that finally it would all be over, finally it might all be beginning…he could hardly dare to believe it. Her back was turned to him, then she spun elegantly, her eyes closed, her mind elsewhere.

In an instant he was taking her in his arms, his hand meeting hers, his arm pulling her close. Her eyes opened, and she smiled up at him, the momentary surprise quickly replaced with a look of complete contentment,

"Joseph…"

As his hand traced gentle spirals on her back, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering a moment longer, before whispering softly into her hair,

"Have you been thinking about us?"

His voice was rich, and he was thankful that emotion didn't cause it to crack. So much did he want to do this properly. For a moment she paused, and then stepping back slightly from his embrace, looked up to meet his gaze.

In an instant he knew something was wrong. There was surprise, panic almost, a hesitation that had just seconds ago had seemed impossible. His breath caught a little, and he felt her hand slide from his shoulder to press against his chest, unconsciously holding him at bay. He didn't understand.

"Yes, yes I have…"

Her eyes were concerned, and full of regret. Immediately his heart plummeted, and he had to look away. Tears burnt behind his eyes, from the shame, the disappointment…again and again he heard her cheerful words from that afternoon…but now all that was gone. He attempted a smile, but his mouth protested, his body no longer feeling entirely his own. How could she look at him like that after…after everything. Entirely confused, he simply nodded, perhaps rather too enthusiastically to be convincing, and pulled back, away from her intoxicating touch.

Still his mind would not process the situation, still he was dazed by her sudden change of heart, and something deep inside told him to run. Stepping back, beginning to turn, he felt her arm on his shoulder, her voice calling him. Blinking away the tears he looked at her, through her almost, reminding her mechanically of his duty. For a moment he faltered, revealing again his love for her, his hope, but then he checked himself. Turning sharply, this time successfully escaping her grasp, ignoring her pleas, he disappeared into the garden.

OoOoOoOoO

Clutching the table Clarisse felt violently sick. Breathing deeply, desperately trying to calm herself, her mind raced to understand the scene that had just played out before her. Not for one second had she expected that…how could he, why now? Steadying herself, she turned and groped at the stereo, turning off the damned music. And yet the silence it left rang out far more loudly. Her hands were shaking visibly, and, although the nausea had passed, her head was literally spinning. Pushing away the ridiculous wedding settings, she sat down heavily, her head coming to rest on her crossed arms.

As her eyes slid shut she almost heard him return, almost felt his arms encircle her shoulders…almost heard him apologise and gently kiss her cheek. But only almost. Joseph was long gone and, for the first time in months, she wondered when he might return.

OoOoOoOoO

After he had left the hall, Joseph had stormed through the palace and out into the back courtyard. To his relief it was deserted apart from a few stable hands. At the back of one of the old garages was his motorbike and, throwing off the cover and climbing on, he kicked it into action, burning off down the dusty track road before anyone even realised he was there.

As he rode down the lonely tracks, his mind began to process her words, her expression. Had he startled her? She had certainly seemed surprised. Was it not the proposal she had wanted? No, that couldn't be it. Had she changed her mind?

Shifting up a gear, he gunned the bike down a straight, pushing all thoughts from his mind…he would speak to Charlotte in the morning.

OoOoOoOoO

Clarisse stared at the crumpets set before her and felt the tears welling again. Surely she couldn't cry any more? All evening she had been ensconced in her suite, refusing even to see Mia and Charlotte. At nine, Olivia had knocked gingerly and entered regardless of the silence, explaining that there was something set out for her to eat in the parlour. Looking up from her desk, her eyes distinctly red and swollen, Clarisse had asked calmly if Joseph had returned.

"No, your majesty, he's still out."

She hadn't pressed it, and Olivia had left quickly, relief plastered across her face.

OoOoOoOoO

Just after midnight Joseph arrived back in the courtyard. He was exhausted and finally ready to sleep. His mind was simply too drained now to process any more of the days events, which had, of course, been his intention. Slinking back into the main building, he noticed a light was still on in the kitchens.

Deciding to get himself a nightcap, or indeed a whole bottle, he wandered towards the door. He was surprised to see her bent over the table, her obviously swollen eyes firmly closed, her hand still clasping the half-full glass of whisky. Eying the bottle suspiciously he wondered how many she had managed to get through before she'd passed out. He smiled in spite of himself. Dropping a kiss to her cheek, he quickly manoeuvred her from the chair and into his arms. It wouldn't do for the maids to catch her here in the morning.

It was a few seconds walk to her suite, and within a couple of minutes he had deposited her safely in her own bed. She hadn't stirred and, although his heart was racing in spite his better judgment, for that he was glad. Pulling the covers up around her, he gently kissed her forehead, and then fled before his resolve crumbled.

OoOoOoOoO

Back in the parlour, he uncorked the whisky and poured himself a glass. Draining it in one fell swoop, he poured another, and another. Hell, if she could dump him and drink away her pain, so the bloody hell could he. Again he drank and, as the room began to spin a little, all he could think of was her face. That innocent face. As his eyes began to close, and he found himself nestling in to the table, the tears finally began to fall.

a/n If you can bear the terrible inconvenience, please review ;o)


	30. Chapter Thirty

The moment she woke early the next morning Clarisse could smell his aftershave lingering in the air. Opening her eyes slowly, she was confused to find herself, alone, in her own bed. Her mouth felt fuzzy, the dull taste of whisky bitter in the morning light. Little by little the events of the previous day trickled back, the long-winded arrangements, his request, her refusal…him leaving her there, the music still playing in the background. She remembered drinking, drinking too much, not drinking enough. She must have fallen asleep in the parlour. He must have brought her to bed. She closed her eyes, sighing deeply, the relief palpable. He was back.

OoOoOoOoO

Joe woke from a less comfortable slumber, still propped over the kitchen table. Unlike Clarisse, he was in possession of a truly epic headache and for a moment he considered lying there forever. The sound of footsteps in the hallway prompted him away from uncomfortable makeshift bed though, and slowly, painfully slowly, he staggered back to his rooms. Still unable to think entirely clearly, he felt the weight of the previous day's revelations on his whole body. He was exhausted, he wanted to sleep forever.

It had been just after six when he had woken and by twenty past six he was in his own bed and fast asleep again. He hoped the alka seltzers would have begun to take some effect before he woke. Either that or that he didn't wake up at all.

OoOoOoOoO

Deciding that little could be achieved if she simply lay around in bed licking her wounds, Clarisse got up and dressed. Two days to the wedding, counting today…tomorrow. Tomorrow her granddaughter would be getting married. Clarisse wondered how well Mia was really coping with all this.

Wandering over to where Maurice was lying drowsily on his beanbag, she ran a hand through his messy fringe,

"What do you think, furry-boy, shall we go and pay her a visit?"

As the poodle whimpered a little and snuggled back into his bed, she shook her head. Lazy animal.

Not deterred, she decided to go and find Mia.

OoOoOoOoO

Just after ten, Joe woke up with a groan. Rubbing his eyes, he was vaguely consoled by the fact that the room was no longer spinning and, fingers crossed, it would seem that the headache was beginning to lift. As he lay, staring at the ceiling, he found himself running over, once again, her words. Had she really meant to turn him down? It didn't make sense…

God she would be feeling rough this morning… How sweet she had looked as he had carried her back to her room. So entirely peaceful. He found himself idly wondering if he would ever feel that content.

Yesterday, the anger and shame still coursing through his veins, he had nearly persuaded himself to leave. To leave for good. It had only been the emotion speaking though, of course. He knew he could never leave, not really. In spite of what his heart might convince him otherwise, his duty was to the protection of the Crown, Mia as well as Clarisse. And there was no one better than he to look after them.

OoOoOoOoO

As she left Mia, still sobbing, in her room, Clarisse made her way to find Charlotte. As she had anticipated, her assistant was already at work in the office. This latest incident could be catastrophic…for everything. And yet, for a moment at least, she was almost proud of Mia. For daring where she had not.

Sitting down in her chair with a sigh, she decided to deal with the present issue though, what to do about salvaging a wedding….

"Charlotte…Tell me, how did this happen?"

Looking up from the papers which had been hastily spread across the table, Charlotte shrugged her shoulders,

"To be entirely honest, your Majesty, I don't know…security really should have spotted her leaving at the very least."

Clarisse raised an eyebrow. That aspect she had not considered.

"I've been trying to find Joe, your Majesty, in the hope that he might be able to shed some light on it, but apparently he is, um, ill in bed."

"Ill?"

Instantly her face filled with concern, a concern that Charlotte recognised only too well.

"Well, I think so…Shades told me that he hasn't reported for duty this morning."

Again, Clarisse attempted to distract herself with a vase of flowers placed on the corner of her desk, desperate not to seem too worried,

"But he did come back last night?"

"Yes."

For a moment there was a tense silence, and then their eyes met. Charlotte blinked nervously, and then took a deep breath,

"Would you like me to go and talk to him, your Majesty?"

There was a momentary flash of recognition in Clarisse's eyes, and then it faded into propriety, a small smile curling her lips,

"Thank you Charlotte, I should feel much better if you made sure he was alright."

OoOoOoOoO

The soft knock on his door broke Joe from his thoughts. For a moment he hesitated, wondering to whom the hand might belong, but then sighed loudly and bid them enter.

To his surprise, it was Charlotte…

"Joe?"

"Hello Charlotte"

His voice was gravely and strangely despondent.

"Are you going to tell me what happened? The Queen is looking as much of a wreck as you are…"

He smiled ruefully and shook his head. He'd never doubted Charlotte's skills of perception, but he'd hardly expected her just to say it, not just like that. She'd make a good politician.

"I'm not sure what good it would do…I don't even understand it myself."

He was still lying flat out on the bed and she sat down on the edge, gently prising his hands away from his eyes.

"Talk to me Joe…at least tell me your side of it. Maybe we can work it out somehow?"

Afterwards, he could hardly believe that he'd broken so easily, that it had all come out so quickly. Perhaps the years of not speaking, of not sharing had finally taken their toll. And when he spoke now it all flooded out. To her credit, Charlotte just let him talk.

Nearly an hour had passed by the time he had finished. They had arrived back at the previous day's events, the phone call, the rejection…the whisky, and suddenly the words had dried up. Sitting now, Joe felt his head falling into his hands again. Reaching to hug him, a little awkwardly given their position, Charlotte allowed herself a small smile. How could these two highly intelligent people be so naïve?

"I just don't understand, Charlotte…I…"

She paused, wondering how to phrase it, and he looked up at her.

"You need to talk to her Joe, tell her everything. You seem so nearly there…she clearly loves you. I mean, are you sure she was talking about you? You can't give up now. Once the events of last night have blown over, I'm sure it'll be alright."

He smiled weakly and nodded.

"Perhaps you are right. I suppose it doesn't hurt to try…"

OoOoOoOoO

Passing by the security room, on his way to her office, Joe was surprised to hear Clarisse's distinctive voice. She was talking to Shades. Pausing by the door, unsure whether under the present circumstances he should enter, he decided to wait,

"And so you see, Shades, it simply isn't on. I understand that this isn't your responsibility, but I think some action should be taken."

"I understand, your Majesty, and I'm afraid that I agree. This kind of security breach is unforgivable, regardless of the person involved. That kind of lack of attention and professional incompetence is unacceptable."

"I believe that he might have been drinking. I do not wish to embarrass him personally…I know that he has some kind of attachment to me…but this behaviour cannot continue. He must go."

"Yes, your Majesty. I can't pretend that it won't be awkward, but…"

Joe could take no more…and storming down the corridor, he collided with Charlotte.

"Joe? What the hell?"

His eyes were red and his voice filled with an anger she had never heard from him,

"Tell her I quit"

OoOoOoOoO

As soon as she was sure he had gone into the garden, Charlotte moved in the direction from where he had come. She had no doubt that, if Joe was in this state, the Queen would be faring little better. To her surprise, however, she found her in the security room, conversing in reasonably amicable tones,

"And so you see, Shades, although I realise that Lionel is the son of a member of my parliament, but I cannot allow his inabilities as a security guard endanger my granddaughter, or indeed myself, any longer. Of course, you will have to arrange matters with Joseph first, but I think it should be you to explain the situation. He idolises Joseph far too much…"

Shades smiled and nodded politely.

"Yes, your Majesty, of course."

She turned then and, to her surprise, was confronted by an extremely flustered looking Charlotte.

"Good lord, Charlotte, one would think you'd seen a ghost, whatever is the matter?"

"It's Joe, your Majesty, he told me that he is resigning…"

For a second, the air seemed to grow cold around her, and the oxygen in her lungs seemed to vanish. In a single moment her greatest fear was pulled dangerously close.

"He…he can't"

Grasping Charlotte's arm as if to steady herself, Clarisse abandoned all pretence of hiding her emotions,

"Why, Charlotte? What did he say?"

As she felt Clarisse's grip tighten on her arm, Charlotte began to piece together the morning's events, his intense anger in spite of their long discussion.

"Your Majesty, did you speak to him this morning? He was coming to see you…"

Shaking her head lightly, Clarisse looked desperately confused, not at all the controlled Queen. Shades withdrew into the main office, not wanting to intrude any further. Relaxing a little, Charlotte continued,

"I think he might have overheard your conversation with Shades…might have misheard you. He has a tendency to do that."

Still puzzled, Clarisse decided not to ask for explanation, and instead concentrated on the implications of the first revelation. What if he had heard? Oh God…what must he think? She had asked him to leave.

"Charlotte, where is he now?"


	31. Chapter Thirty One

So distracted was Clarisse, as she stormed through the corridors in pursuit of Joseph, that she hardly had time to register Mia before she collided with her. As Charlotte caught up with the Queen, she was just in time to witness her helping Mia to her feet,

"Ah, your Majesty…thank goodness…the Archbishop, on the main telephone in your office, he claims it is rather urgent."

For a moment Clarisse visibly hesitated. Her hands were still a little shaky from Joseph's sudden disappearance, her mouth desperately dry. But running into Mia had jolted her out of her panic. She wondered how best to proceed. Not forty feet away, through those elaborate doors to the garden, she was sure Joseph was angry with her, threatening to leave her forever. In her study was the head of the Church, a man whose patience was distinctly lacking.

"Uh…Charlotte, I…is it really urgent? I mean, do you think I might call back in about an hour?"

Immediately understanding what she was asking, Charlotte smiled weakly, and trying desperately to avoid Mia's confused expression, followed Clarisse's gaze out into the garden,

"I think Joseph has more patience than the Archbishop, your Majesty"

Clarisse attempted a smile and nodded briskly, straightening her jacket distractedly,

"Yes, Charlotte, you are right…but…"

Again she hesitated, not wanting to ask, not wanting to say more than she absolutely must. Charlotte understood implicitly,

"But I will check on him, of course."

OoOoOoOoO

As Clarisse walked off purposefully in the direction of her office, Charlotte decided that it was time for Mia to be enlightened into the inner workings of the palace,

"Princess Mia…", Mia frowned and Charlotte smiled awkwardly, "Mia, sorry…um, do you have a minute or two, I think there are some things you need to be made aware of…that you might be able to help me with?"

More than a little confused, Mia nodded her ascent, and soon she and Charlotte were safely ensconced in the library, gossiping like schoolgirls,

"…and so you're telling me that they've been in love for years?"

Charlotte smiled and nodded, "At least as long as I've been here, and, I have a shrewd suspicion, from what Joe told me, for a long time before that."

"And so why don't they just come clean?"

Mia shifted a little in her seat and wrinkled her brow, clearly totally nonplussed by her grandmother's actions,

"I'm not sure…maybe they're too used to the secrecy? Perhaps they're worried about the possible questions that might be asked?"

Mia sighed, unconvinced, and gazed out of the window,

"I think they just need a push."

Charlotte smiled, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward conspiratorially,

"That's just what I hoped you might say…"

OoOoOoOoO

In the garden, Joseph was distraught. Of course, to the untrained eye, he would've appeared to be as cool as ever, his shades glinting in the evening light as he watched the sunset. Beneath, however, his eyes were red and swollen, tired from more tears than he was prepared to count. Tears of shame, tears of anger but, most of all, tears of regret.

Each time he had fallen so hard for her, so entirely out of control…this last time had been the worst. He had so thought that it might work this time, now that they had enough space to relax a little. But once again he had failed and he was, once again, wondering if he would ever be able to forget her laugh, the feel of his fingers in her hair…

The old arguments had resurfaced and this was a discussion he had had with himself many times over the years. He had become an expert on this particular subject. Each time he had convinced himself that all they needed was time, that he couldn't exist without her. That there was no point in running when he couldn't escape.

But this time she had said it. She had asked him to leave. No, she had ordered that he be told that he must leave. She hadn't even deigned to ask him herself. And of course he must leave. That much he had promised her.

But how to make it through the next few days? He would not be able to leave until the wedding was over and, he feared, the coronation ceremony complete. He would have to see her at every turn, watch her every move. It would be pure, exquisite agony, and she knew it.

Still, in spite of it all, he was filled with the sense that there was something missing, that something didn't quite fit. There were words that still needed to be spoken, things that, rightly or wrongly, still needed to be said. He could not leave without talking to her. Once last time.

But it could not be tonight, no, tonight she would be too preoccupied. And tomorrow she would be too tired. The morning after, then…they would speak. He would go to her chamber first thing in the morning, long before her maids arrived, and talk to her there. It would be quiet, and he would be able to ask her directly, to hear it from her lips. He needed to hear her asking for him to leave. And then he would. Somehow.

OoOoOoOoO

As Clarisse sat in the large easy chair by the fire in her suite, the book she was reading long discarded on her lap, she realised that tears were streaming down her face. For a long time she had been staring blankly into the fire, oblivious to everything else around her, wondering how it all might end. It was a thought that had crept upon her over the past few days, a feeling of finality that she had not previously experienced. Initially she had put it down to the wedding and, in good time, the coronation. She would be passing her crown on, completing the plan she had been working on so carefully for the past two years. The need for an ending. But now it didn't feel like that. No, the succession was not that which was foremost in her mind. All she could think of was Joseph.

She had spoken to Charlotte that evening, just before dinner, and she had been reassured to hear that Joseph had promised not to leave before the end of the week. That gave her four days. Apparently he had calmed down, and was back working on the security plans for the wedding. She didn't expect him to come to her chambers that night, indeed, why would he? He thought that she had dismissed him.

Charlotte had explained everything to her, the overheard conversations, the misconceptions, the reason for his proposal, the reason for his reaction… She had sat in stunned silence as the younger woman had spelt it all out, had observed sadly,

"He talks to you, Charlotte…"

Charlotte smiled, and, a little tentatively, reached out and took Clarisse's hand,

"Yes, but it's _you_ that he _really_ wants to talk to."

Staring into the flames, those words rang in Clarisse's ears. How often had she actually really listened to him? Paid him the attention that he so clearly paid to her? Suddenly she felt a rush of guilt and blinked. This was ridiculous…she had the love of her life sitting somewhere in this palace and here she was pondering what to do next.

Getting up quickly, forgetting that she was dressed simply in her pyjamas and gown, Clarisse opened the door to her suite and began to walk in the direction of his room. That night she didn't care if the security guard posted outside her room noticed.

OoOoOoOoO

Opening the door quietly and stepping inside, she was disappointed to find the room in gloomy darkness. The fire was burning low in the grate and all the main lights were out. Wandering through to his bedroom she was a little concerned to see the bed hadn't been slept in. She was about to leave when she heard a slight movement from the large chair facing away from her. He was asleep.

Careful not to wake him, she circled the chair, and knelt down in front of him. Sitting back on her heels she felt her heart wrench as she made out the obvious redness of his eyes. His hands were folded in his lap, and his head was resting against the back of the chair, tilted slightly to the left. He shivered a little in his sleep and Clarisse softly moved back to his bed and pulled off the blanket, returning to wrap it carefully around him as he slept on oblivious. Almost oblivious.

Shifting slightly he snuggled into the warmth of the brushed wool, and she couldn't help but smile. Her own eyes filling with tears once more, she knew she couldn't stay much longer. This was not the time, he was not in any state to hear her out. And she hadn't worked out exactly the things she must say, that she needed him to hear. Tomorrow, after the wedding, or maybe the morning after. She would go and find him then and explain everything, everything that _had_ happened, everything that _might, _no_, would_ happen, one day.

Dropping a tender kiss to his forehead, her heart almost broke as he softly moaned her name. She kissed him again, lost for a second in the feeling…but still he slept. As much as she craved his embrace, she had to be strong now, that much was clear to her. This was not how it should be. Making sure that he was comfortable, she stepped back and, promising herself that it would not end like this, she returned to her room.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

A/N This is cruelly short - there will be more tomorrow, I hope. I'm just v.v. busy at the moment. Hope you like - please review and let me know what you think!

As Joseph began to stir, he smiled…her perfume, nothing but a subtle waft of scent, but unmistakeable nonetheless. Rubbing his face against the side of the chair though, he soon realised that he was not in her bed. He wasn't even in her room. For a moment all was still, and he drifted in the denial of the previous days, but it wasn't enough. The sun was spilling into the room through a gap in the curtains. He had to get up, he had to face this…her…everything.

But she had been here, of that he was sure. And as he busied himself with his morning regime, he couldn't draw his mind away from her. Why had she come? And, moreover, why hadn't she woken him? He smiled wryly as he remembered his own late-night trip to her suite the day before, and wondered if she had needed to see him. He had slept well, in spite of the awkward position, wrapped warmly in the blanket…the blanket…that had not been there. She had come to him. He smiled, more genuinely this time, his mind racing at the possibilities, not daring quite to embrace them all.

He cut himself twice while shaving, cursing his suddenly shaky hands. Dabbing on the ointment and wincing at the sting he realised that he was nervous. Of what he wasn't exactly sure. Nothing had changed, she had still asked him to leave, had effectively fired him; he had abandoned his duty and drunk himself into a stupor and…still, she did not want to marry him. And yet, she had come to him.

OoOoOoOoO

As she put the finishing touches to her makeup, Clarisse looked at the clock on her dressing table. Ten minutes, then they would be leaving for the church. She looked at herself once more in the mirror and attempted a smile. Hmm. She still looked tired, and no amount of makeup was going to mask that. And from experience she knew better than to try. She had been awake most of the night, determined not to give in and take something, knowing full well that she had some serious thinking to do.

And she had thought. As the pale morning light had filtered through the gap in the curtains her mind had been made up. She knew it wouldn't be exactly what he wanted to hear, but it would be something at least. She hoped he would understand and see her reasoning. Somewhere in the morning, at ten past three, to be precise, she had realised that there was nothing she wouldn't do for him. She had looked over at the clock and suddenly burst out into a fit of giggles. Unsure whether it was from the relief of finally admitting it, or from the sheer ridiculousness of the formality of her own mind, she decided that she didn't care anymore. And so she giggled to herself, all alone, finally alone to think…curled up in her chair before the fire, Maurice glaring sleepily at her sudden disturbance to his snoozing.

OoOoOoO

In her suite, Mia was feeling desperately sick. She had always known that she would…Jesus, this was no crappy school presentation, she was marrying some random guy from the English aristocracy to secure her throne. It was unbelievable.

As another wave of nausea passed, Charlotte entered the room. They exchanged smiles and Mia sat down, wedding gown and all, by the window.

"Is everything ready, Charlotte?"

Approaching a little closer, Charlotte couldn't help but marvel at the girl's composure. It was scary how much she was like her grandmother sometimes. Even at a time like this, she was able to concentrate on something else,

"Yes, Mia, I've arranged it all….though…"

Mia grinned broadly, shaking her head in amusement,

"S'ok, I've already told you, if it doesn't work, I'll take the rap. If they don't survive the forty minute ride together, well, I guess I could always become Queen now and, well, Shades wouldn't be so bad as a substitute Joe"

Charlotte sniggered and tried not to blush.

"Fair enough…though, from what I've seen of the Queen this morning, this might just work."

"How so?"

"I'm not sure, she just seems calmer…last night I thought she was really going to lose it."

Mia smiled, remembering her grandmother's words,

"Ah, but Charlotte, Queens never lose it…"

Charlotte smiled back, shaking her head sadly,

"Hmm…though perhaps sometimes…"

Mia grinned, amused by Charlotte's grave face,

"I know, I know, but I think she's working on it…gradually!"

OoOoOoOoO

As Joe slid into the car, closing the door behind him, he was suddenly aware that he wasn't alone. Turning quickly, he was horrified to realise that it was Clarisse who was sitting in the far end of the limo. Their eyes met and he saw his shock reflected back at him.

"Joe…"

"Clarisse…?"

The automatic lock clicked shut, and for a second each was distracted by the sudden realisation of the situation. Instinctively, Joe tried the door, knowing already that it was pointless.

It was Clarisse who smiled first. As he turned his attention back to her, he felt the breath catch in his throat, just as it always had. He looked away, his hands, folded tightly in his lap, suddenly seeming the most interesting thing he had ever seen. She leant forward a little, unsure where to begin, and then sat back again. He was under a foot away from her, she could hear his breathing…and yet he couldn't have felt further.

She realised now what must have happened, why Charlotte had been so keen for her to travel alone in the limo. It must have been planned all along. Though she doubted that her aide had been alone in this one, it simply wasn't something she would dare…Mia. It had to be. Clarisse smiled, amazed once again at her granddaughter's perception, her intelligence, her…she faltered, that twinge of regret surfacing once again as she thought of the wedding. But not now, this was not the time for such thoughts. First, Joseph. For once he must come first.

Still he was staring at his hands, not ignoring her exactly…he was too tense to be ignoring her…but not wanting to see her. She sat forward again, her elbows on her knees, her face resting on her hands. For a moment she simply watched him, they way his eyes crinkled a little as he scrutinised his fingers, the way he unconsciously nibbled his lower lip,

"Joseph…" He looked up, but not at her. She continued, her confidence growing,

"Joseph, I…I owe you an apology"


	33. Thirty Three

His brow furrowed, though whether in anger or confusion she wasn't sure. Swallowing nervously, she took a deep breath, ready to continue with her speech. Suddenly though, in the cold light of day and the unexpected setting of the limousine, she felt the words trickling away. As she paused, he moved to look out of the window, settling back in the seat, bringing his arm down to rest on the ledge. There was a kind of smile on his lips now, and she couldn't decide if it was one of pleasure or of scorn. Still he wouldn't look at her, pretending not to have heard her words. Moving closer, sliding a little along the seat, she reached for his hand.

Delicately, her fingers found his, cool against warmth. At first he didn't respond, simply letting her turn his palm over in his lap, watching her trace the line of the back of his hand with her finger. She was reaching out for him, unable to speak her thoughts yet. It was a sign he well knew...there was more to come. Much more. The image of her fingers resting lightly in his upturned palm was almost too much. It fascinated him, troubled him. How could something so tender and cool, burn him so agonizingly?

In an instant his fingers had closed around hers, interlacing tightly, taking some semblance of control. He looked back to the window, the sun glaring through the glass, trying to calm himself, to subdue the overwhelming need to grab her and shake her. To ask her why.

Clarisse simply sat and waited, patient and cautious in equal measure. His fingers were pressing tightly into the back of her hand, his grip a little too firm. But she wouldn't draw her hand away.

When he finally spoke his voice was rough and desperately monotone,

"Apologise for what?"

She closed her eyes for a second, attempting to formulate at least one coherent thought. Still he stared out of the window, his hand holding hers.

Gently tugging his hand, she pulled him away from the window, urging him to face her. In an instant he was looking into her eyes, and her breath caught. Bringing her hand up to his cheek she brushed away the solitary tear that was working its way towards his chin. All the time holding his gaze, she attempted a smile. Still he watched her.

"For everything, my darling...for everything"

He swallowed, his eyes narrowing a little, now trying to escape her gaze. Still she held his face, though, caressing his cheek gently with her palm.

"It's not that simple anymore, Clarisse...it's too late..."

Wrapping her hand round the back of his neck, she closed her eyes and carefully brought her forehead to rest on his own. He didn't pull back.

In spite of his better judgment, he brought his arm to rest around her shoulders, his fingers running over the smooth fabric of her jacket.

She sighed, feeling his warm breath caressing her cheek.

"It's not too late, Joseph...I promise"

His breath was shaky as he replied, holding on to her almost desperately as he convinced himself of the truth,

"It is. We've gone too far this time. I can't..."

She pulled him closer, falling into him a little as the car took a corner,

"Please let me explain. At least that..."

He didn't reply, and she continued blindly, hurriedly, still stroking his fingers, unable to let go of him yet,

"First of all, my love, there is something that I have never actually said to you, at least not properly" she paused, unsure as to her words, in the end just deciding to say it, "I do want to marry you...I mean...there is nothing that I would want more than to marry you. If it were left to me I would drag you straight up that aisle and do it today."

He pulled back a little, confusion clouding his already teary eyes, his words simple,

"Then why did you say no?"

She sighed, not entirely convinced by the reasoning herself,

"Mainly because I can't say yes, not now...but also because I wasn't expecting you to ask." She smiled, tapping his nose affectionately, "You have to give a girl some notice for such things, you know?"

His face was still serious, and she met his gaze again, understanding the hurt that still remained, instantly regretting her flippancy,

"I know what you heard that day...Charlotte worked it out. About finally getting on with things...I was referring to Pierre, you know."

He nodded, relaxing a little as she slid closer, resting her head carefully on his shoulder.

"And as for me asking you to resign..."

"Sacking me, you mean"

She smiled at his directness, and quickly pressed a kiss to his neck without thinking. He started a little, and instinctively slipped his arm back round her.

"Again, my dear, you shouldn't hang around open doors...I was referring to Lionel. And...well, what I thought most after I heard about that night was how much I must have hurt you...I just didn't understand, I..."

Pulling back slowly, Joe pushed her away from him, his hands on her shoulders. As he scrutinised her face he realised that she was telling the truth. Gradually, the pieces all slipped into place, his foolishness, her misunderstanding...

"OK"

She raised an eyebrow, looking down nervously to her lap,

"Just OK?"

He nodded as she looked back up at him, and pulled her back into a gentle hug, his chin coming to rest on her head.

"Yes, OK…I accept your apology"

For a long moment they sat there, comforted by the embrace that they had both been craving, and yet neither really understanding what this meant. It was Clarisse who finally spoke, her voice nothing more than a whisper,

"So will you stay?"

She felt him take a deep breath, pulling her a little closer as he did so,

"I don't think so..."

She swallowed and, for the first time that day at least, felt the tears rising.

"Please stay"

He bit his lip, praying that he might remain strong though this, to say what needed to be said,

"I don't think it would be a good idea."

His grip on her tightened as he felt her tremble slightly,

"I...I need you"

He began to stroke her back carefully, soothing her just as he hurt her,

"We need space, Clarisse...all this secrecy, all this pain...it's not helping either of us. I...I can't stand to hurt you like this."

He felt her nod, almost imperceptibly against his chest, and his eyes began to fill with tears.

"I won't be gone forever, but I...we need to wait until we have the space that we need"

She pulled back a little, and looked up at him, understanding,

"You're far too intelligent, you know..."

He smiled, and felt the tears spill down his cheeks.

"I will come back, I promise...whenever you ask me"

"I know you will...though I warn you, we may have to buy you a pager"

The joke rang hollow...both realised that they would not, could not be like this, safe in each others arms, until something changed. Clarisse's mind raced as she began to think ahead, began to wonder when it might be,

"Don't make any promises now, Clarisse..."

She smiled, he could read her so well. Looking over his shoulder she realised that they were nearly there, and sat suddenly back, running a hand self-consciously over her clothes,

"Do I look alright?"

He grinned, shaking his head, running his hand tenderly down her cheek,

"No, my darling, you look perfect, as ever"

Her face grew serious, his touch had been fleeting, but it was enough,

"When will you leave?"

"Not yet..."

At first their lips met with feverish desperation, tasting each other, their arms wrapping tightly about each other, pulling each other ever closer. Then, as the passion settled, they took their time, gentle kisses, teasing and tender. As the car slowed, Joseph pulled back, kissing her one more time on the cheek, the lips, her forehead, unwilling to let her go. As they ground to a halt no words were spoken, nothing could be said now... Straightening his shirt, Joseph stepped out of the limo and walked round to the other door to let Clarisse out. As she stood, the crowd roared, and she raised her hand to wave her appreciation. Stepping round her to close the door, Joseph bent a little, placing his hand discreetly at the small of her back, and whispered tenderly, "I love you...whatever"

To the cameras it would seem that she smiled at the cheers of the crowd, at the small girl handing her the poesy of flowers, but inside, only four words had registered.


	34. Thirty Four

As she walked down the aisle of the church, hundreds of pairs of eyes falling on her, Clarisse smiled bravely. Not for the first time, and not, she feared, for the last time, she had managed to pull herself together and keep smiling. Sebastian had met her at the door and together they had greeted various nobles and European dignitaries. Once again, she had been thankful for his good-natured support, his warm smile…and, it had to be said, his remarkable way of intimidating the more irritating guests away from her side.

She was not the centre of attention today, at least she wouldn't be, just as soon as the service began, and for that at least she was thankful. She could almost still feel Joseph's hand at the small of her back, guiding her forward, calming her invisibly. Fighting the urge to glance back at the main doors and check he was still there, she kept walking. Eventually, she arrived at the front and giving the Archbishop an acknowledging nod, and then smiling at Helen, she took her seat.

Looking down, she realised that her hands were still trembling, and said a silent prayer of thanks to the god of flowers who had thought to equip her with a small posy of roses. Still she couldn't really process what had been said in the car. It was almost as if her mind couldn't accept that he might really leave her. Squaring her shoulders, she sat up rigidly, taking a deep breath. Perhaps denial and self-delusion were the best line of defence today…at least until she was alone.

OoOoOoOoO

At the back of the church, Joe was faring little better. Struggling with his earpiece, his fingers still shaking too much to insert it properly, he muttered under his breath. Shades, awkwardly cradling the squirming Viscount in his arms, couldn't help but notice. Whatever had happened in that car, Joe sure didn't look too happy about it.

"Everything all right there, sir?"

Joe nodded and responded automatically,

"Fine…everything is fine."

"Don't suppose you fancy switching jobs, do you sir?"

Joe attempted a smile, as the baby once again dribbled all over Shades' Armani jacket, and shook his head,

"No, sorry… my place is back here. Just think of it as your induction into being Head of Security"

Shades frowned, understanding immediately. So it hadn't worked – he was still leaving. Deciding not to say anything more, he simply nodded and turned his attention back to the child.

OoOoOoOoO

As the fanfare sounded, and the choir began to sing, Clarisse turned to look. And yet, as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, her eyes were not on her granddaughter. He was there, standing by the main door, just where she had left him, and he was looking straight back at her. Even across the length of the aisle she could make out his expression…of resignation, of love, of disappointment. She knew full well that he disapproved strongly of her involvement in Mia's engagement, of her decision, but he had never voiced this, never questioned her. She smiled broadly, falsely, in the direction of the bride, all the while never taking her eyes from his. He smiled back, and winked discreetly. Quickly wiping a tear from her cheek, she swallowed hard and nodded, finally drawing her gaze to the bride.

OoOoOoOoO

It took her a second to realise what exactly had happened, so distracted had she been by her own thoughts. Turning to Helen though, she excused herself and began to make her way back down the aisle after the hurriedly retreating figure of Mia. Pausing at the main door, she almost collided with Charlotte, but soon reassured her aide to keep calm and to keep everyone else occupied.

As she hurried out of the main part of the church and through into the maze of empty anterooms, not thinking really, and for once just reacting, she felt his hand on her shoulder, holding her back slightly. Turning sharply, she almost ran into him. His eyes were warm, smiling back at her, and instantly she relaxed,

"Breathe, Clarisse…"

She let out the breath she hadn't even realised she had been holding, and closed her eyes. Bringing his hands up to cup her face, he dropped a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"There…now…better?"

She opened her eyes, sighing deeply, still steadying herself against him,

"Yes…I'm fine"

"Good. She's just through the doors, on the left…I'll try and clear the photographers as much as possible."

OoOoOoO

The sight of her granddaughter bent double in what was unmistakably a spasm of fear, caused something to snap in the usually iron-willed queen. This simply would not do, not now, and not ever. Suddenly she realised that she could not force upon this girl the necessary mistakes that had governed her own life for so long. For a moment she stood, calming herself before she approached, gathering her words.

"Oh my dear….Mia"

Mia's head snapped up, and she began to rise, backing away a little,

"I'm sorry, Grandma, I…I…I, I just need a minute, I can do this"

Clarisse shook her head, as if unsure of herself, just for a moment, and then more vehemently,

"No…no. No."

Placing her hands on the shaking girl's shoulders, she tried to calm her,

"Darling, listen to me…"

She pulled back, unsure how much she should say, realising almost as soon as she'd doubted herself, that Mia deserved to know everything,

"…I made my choice, duty to my country, over love."

She paused, the words sticking a little in her throat,

"It's what I've always done it seems…it was drummed into me my whole life. Now I've lost the only man I ever really loved."

She could not have seen Joseph, moving silently closer, and in any case, no doubt she would have said it even if she had. Mia smiled sadly, understanding now the immense sacrifice her grandmother had made…realising painfully that she could not make it herself. Looking over at Joe, and then back at Clarisse, her mind began to race. Surely it couldn't end like this.

Clarisse simply nodded, discreetly as always, but the need for pretence was now gone. From Mia, at least, she wouldn't hide the truth. She had a feeling she would need her over the next few weeks, months…and her heart sunk at the thought.

Turning back to her granddaughter, Clarisse swallowed, composing herself again.

"Mia, I want you to make your choices as a woman…don't make the same mistakes I did."

She tried a smile, lifted a little by Mia's now-obvious relief,

"Make your own mistakes, there'll be plenty of them, believe me. Now…you can go back into that church and get married, or you can walk away. Whatever choice you make, let it come from your heart."

Mia nodded, biting her lip as she struggled with her thoughts. Groaning loudly in frustration, she threw her arms around her grandmother.

OoOoOoOoO

Watching her walk back through to the church, Clarisse decided to hang back a little. She still hadn't understood quite the nature of Mia's decision, but she was confident that whatever she wanted to do, that it would be something she must do alone. Glancing round the main anteroom, she was a little disappointed to find that Joseph must already have re-entered the great hall. She thought back to her words of a few minutes ago, how easy it had been just to say it, how right… She would say them again, god, she wanted to say them again…to tell everyone, anyone who might listen, but with him by her side, sharing the moment with her. Taking a deep breath, buoyed a little by her vain fantasy, she knew that she must leave the quiet sanctuary of the smaller room and re-enter the main hall.

She arrived just in time to see Mia sweep up the final stairs, Andrew by her side.

OoOoOoOoO

Throughout Mia's speech, Joe was torn, torn between watching the girl he had become so proud of single-handedly changing Genovian history, and the beautiful woman who he would be leaving behind so very soon. As Mia's words rang out around the church, he couldn't help but wonder what this all might mean, these changes, this break with tradition. He knew better than to hope too much.

She was standing but two paces away from him, enraptured by the events unfolding before her, her hands twisting nervously as Mia voiced her suggestions. But he couldn't reach out to her, no matter how close she was. Not here, not now.

As Mabrey blustered after Nicholas, she merely stepped aside, allowing him to pass, not even meeting his angry gaze. Joe smiled to himself, '…that's my girl', and shivering a little as her soft command tickled his ear, shut the doors firmly behind the annoying fool.

OoOoOoOoO

Clarisse couldn't quite believe the scene unfolding before her as member after member of parliament stood to approve Mia's motion. As the room filled with cheers, she felt a little giddy. It had been so easy…after all this time…and it had been so easy.

Feeling his eyes on her, she longed to turn to Joseph, to hug him in triumph, but she managed to resist the urge. Not now, not here. Looking again at Mia, she smiled warmly, nodding her proud approval. To her surprise, Mia seemed to look first startled, and then, just as swiftly, remarkably pleased with herself.

From where she was standing, Clarisse couldn't exactly make out what Mia was doing, why she was leaning over to that irritating boy, why….

Charlotte stepped up behind her shoulder, gesturing with her earpiece or something, and for a moment her attention was drawn elsewhere.

OoOoOoOoO

In spite of the momentous event unfolding around him, Joe was beginning to feel the heavy weight of their earlier conversation coming down to rest around him. He had already decided that he must leave before the end of the week, things would simply be too hard otherwise, but he still hadn't managed to convince himself of how things should be left. He couldn't just leave her, he wouldn't. And yet he couldn't return with any regularity. He wondered if a trip somewhere might be in order, perhaps to Italy…he had always wanted to go to Rome, to see the architecture, the sculpture. He sighed, even thoughts of his dream holiday wouldn't be able to cheer him today. Without her there would be something missing.

Glancing over again at her, giving in to the urge he had fought all through the service, he was surprised to see her using Charlotte's earpiece. For a moment it struck him as ridiculously funny, Clarisse and technology were not a welcome couple, but the laugh didn't materialise. Not today. Instead, he twisted his hands, the shakiness suddenly returning.

OoOoOoOoO

As Mia's words registered, their almost fantastical implication suddenly clear to her, Clarisse knew immediately what she would do. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she decided something entirely on impulse, without even beginning to think. Of course, the choice made, she hesitated for a moment, looking at Charlotte, smiling nervously, wondering almost reflexively whether her decision was the right one. But no, for once she felt it, and had not intention of stopping herself.

He wasn't looking at her…but he must have heard, he…his earpiece was still very much in place. Still he didn't look up, and she felt her heart surge a little as she understood. He still thought that she would say no.

She smiled to herself, her hands suddenly fidgety, her mouth a little dry, nervously wondering how to ask him, how to…

Stepping forward, she decided not to question herself any longer and just keep going,

"Um, Joseph?"

OoOoOoOoO

As his mind drifted, his thoughts resting fondly on Mia and her latest vague attempt to arrange a marriage herself (it must, after all, have been her doing that they were locked in the limo), Joe didn't notice that Clarisse had come to stand before him. Looking the other way, his mind was playing indulgently with the image of her throwing her arms around him and them running away together right here, right now. He sighed, blinking away the image, knowing full well the good that it would do him.

And then she was there, beckoning him over. Mentally shaking himself, he found himself, as if on auto-pilot, standing before her. He lowered his eyes, wishing desperately to mask the disappointment in them. This was not her fault, and he did not want her to feel worse than she probably already did.

OoOoOoOoO

"_Dear_ Joseph…"

His eyes snapped up, cautious, not quite understanding.

"Am I too late…"

The rest was a blur. To anyone watching it would have appeared that he was as cool as anything, entirely expecting her proposal, playing along good-heartedly, but inside he was in shock. Complete and utter shock. As she looked at him expectantly, he realised that she would require a reply. For a moment he was struck by the terrifying thought that he might have forgotten how to speak. He cleared his throat, anything to make sure,

"Well, I thought you'd never ask…."

As he handed his hat and earpiece to Shades, he managed a silly quip about Lionel, all the while his mind racing furiously, still not registering that this was all really happening. Turning back to her, he took her hand. Feeling how much she was trembling, he quickly caressed her fingers through their gloves, and wrapped her arm in his. Her nervousness jolted him from his disbelief, her discomfort, as always, bringing him to her side.

Taking a deep breath, he felt her falter, ever so slightly, and he smiled inwardly. Whispering gently, he squeezed her fingers,

"One foot, then the next, my darling…I'm here"

She smiled, and took his advice, thankful for his support now her courage was beginning to waver.

As they reached the altar, he whispered again, his breath tickling her ear, making her smile,

"'…you were all dressed for it'? Honestly, darling, that's as bad as 'I thought you'd never ask'"

Stifling a giggle, she leant into him slightly, and they made the final step up to stand before the archbishop.

OoOoOoOoO

Placing the ring on her finger, Joe wondered if she realised how many times his imagination had already played through this scene. Her hand lay warmly in his, her fingers lightly stroking his skin through the silk gloves. For a moment it seemed as if they were entirely alone, and looking into her eyes, he smiled cheekily. She looked as dazed as he was, as surprised, as contented. Someone, the archbishop, he imagined, uttered the words "you may now kiss the bride", and it took a few seconds to realise that it was directed at him. Clarisse smiled at his slight hesitation, and moved towards him, meeting him halfway. As their lips met, they smiled. This was no kiss of passion, but one of honest, still almost unbelieving, pride. Finally.

A/N This is not the end….there will be a couple more chapters, but we are nearly there now. Please review! ;o)


	35. Thirty Five

Still not quite believing it all, the smiling faces of the congregation, the archbishop's words, Sebastian's congratulations, Clarisse found herself practically clinging to Joseph as they made their way back down the aisle. Her mind was racing, and yet she could think of nothing. The faces seemed to blur, the noise almost unbearable, and for a moment she wondered if she might not faint. A gentle squeeze on her hand brought her back to reality, and she turned to smile at him. Her husband. It took all her years of restraint and calm, dignified propriety for her not to lose it and simply bounce up and down in excitement.

Joseph, being far more accustomed, indeed trained, to deal with unexpected circumstances, was taking it all in his stride and looking like a pro. Nodding to the guests as the moved gracefully down the aisle, he allowed himself a moment of smugness. He couldn't deny it, it did feel good to finally show the world what she felt for him, what he felt for her. Glancing down a moment, he smiled as he noticed how her hands were still shaking. Placing his own warm hand over her cool, trembling fingers, he tried to calm her a little. Whispering discreetly, he tried to distract her,

"You know…I could really do with a cup of tea, round about now…"

By the time they had reached the rear of the church, Clarisse had stopped laughing and had managed to recompose herself somewhat. Stepping across, a grin plastered widely across her face, Charlotte congratulated them. Bending slightly towards Clarisse, she asked in a discreetly hushed voice whether they would prefer to leave in the open carriage or the car in which they had arrived.

For a moment Clarisse was unsure; the carriage had been intended for Mia and Andrew, and the parade through the streets was the traditional ending to a royal wedding. It would also have been the perfect opportunity for the new couple to meet their future subjects. And yet now, hmm…it would be traditional to ride in the carriage, but then again, it would also be unexpected. And in any case, she smiled, feeling Joe's arm slip gently around the small of her back, what she really wanted now was to be alone…well, almost alone.

Opening her mouth to speak though, it was Joseph who cut her off and with a serious expression suggested that the car would be a safer option. Clarisse smiled, feeling instantly the idle stroke of his thumb on her back,

"But Joseph, I…I think people will be expecting pictures…"

He looked disappointed,

"Really? But they have many pictures of you…surely a few less won't matter."

Charlotte giggled, realising that he was only teasing, and decided to join in herself,

"Um, Joe, I think they might want some pictures of you…"

He shrugged, running a hand nervously across his tie,

"Really? Hmm…but I didn't even get my hair done!"

Turning to face him, desperately trying not to burst out laughing, Clarisse nodded solemnly.

"Very well, the car it is. But we will agree to pose for photos later?"

He nodded back, his eyes lifting cheekily to wink at Charlotte, who quickly disappeared to make an announcement to the press.

OoOoOoOoO

As the guards stepped back to let them pass, Joseph and Clarisse walked through the anterooms towards the main doors of the church. Surprisingly, the area was almost deserted, save a few minor security personnel in the corners, and immediately Clarisse relaxed. Joseph's hand was still tenderly guiding her, and she leant back against him slightly. Slowing her steps a little, knowing full well the onslaught that would face them as soon as the doors were opened, she took the opportunity to whisper carefully,

"Are…are you alright, darling?"

Her hesitation was endearing, her self-doubt still so apparent. Sliding his arm from her back, and taking her hand in his, he gently kissed her fingers. She turned then, and they halted in their steps, just for a moment. As he smiled, she shivered slightly, feeling suddenly the chilliness of the darkened rooms. In an instant, his free arm was holding her tight, his fingers stroking her neck.

"Clarisse…my love…you've made me the happiest man in the world, and you ask me whether I'm alright?"

She smiled slightly, still holding his gaze though, the seriousness lingering,

"Yes, I'm asking if you're alright…I…I rather sprung this on you."

He raised an eyebrow, and pulled her a little nearer. Not caring if they had an audience, he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead,

"Well then yes, darling, I am most certainly alright." He paused, stroking a finger tenderly down her nose, "And, darling, if this is your idea of a surprise, well…let's just say you can surprise me whenever you want."

He felt her relax even more, and to his surprise she wrapped her arms around his waist, her head coming to rest on his chest. He smiled, pleased that she was no longer shaking, irritated slightly by the fact that their moment would be lost in a few seconds.

Reading his mind, Clarisse pulled back and ran a hand cautiously over her hair-do. He smiled and pretended to primp his own elaborate hairstyle. With a grin she shook her head, and proceeded to straighten his tie, and then smooth down the lapels of his jacket. It was nothing, just a gesture, but for a moment Joe was lost. Her preening complete, she was surprised to find him staring at her, his eyes a little teary, but full of longing,

"I love you, Clarisse"

She smiled, nodding discreetly, suddenly aware of their audience,

"And I you, my darling." She brought her hand to cup his cheek, running her thumb tantalizingly close to his lips, "…but not here…just a few minutes more…"

He blinked deliberately and took her hand once more, leading her towards the door,

"Well then, let's get this show on the road…"

a/n There will be three more chapters now: the car trip to the palace; the evening; and then the morning after. Hopefully I'll get the next one up by tomorrow (it's already planned and half-written…and it's longer than this one!)

Please leave me a review if you have time – I really appreciate the feedback! Nic.x


	36. Thirty Six

As they stood on the magnificent steps leading down from the church, Joseph slightly behind Clarisse, his hands resting lightly on her upper arms, the sun came out from behind a cloud. From the mass of photographers, not more than ten paces away, came shouts and cries. Taking another deep breath, Clarisse felt his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly, the fabric of her jacket shifting slightly. Through the cacophany of voices, the glaring sun, he felt her draw slightly closer to him, whispering softly,

"I promise this won't last much longer..."

He relaxed a little, his heart warming at how well she could read him, and smoothed her jacket sleeves down a little.

"Just keep smiling, darling, and then we can leave"

If it were possible, the grin that had been plastered on his face from the moment she had accepted his proposal grew wider. Squeezing her a little, bringing his mouth closer to her ear, he too began to whisper,

"At the moment, Clarisse, I fear that I may be smiling for ever...I don't seem to be able to stop"

She giggled softly, and turned her face a little, smiling as his beard grazed the side of her cheek,

"Would that be so bad?"

He paused, clearly pondering the issue,

"Well, it would rather put pay to my sultry staring and moody good-looks..."

For the third time that day, Clarisse had to forcibly bite her tongue to stop herself exploding in a rather uncharacteristic fit of giggles. She was about to administer a gentle elbow in the ribs, when the repeated chant of the photographers finally registered.

To begin with, Joe had ignored it, knowing she would be mortally embarrassed, but now the occasional cheeky shout had become a veritable chorus...

"Kiss, kiss, kiss..."

He smiled at the assorted men and women sprawled out in front of them, and wondered what he might shout back. He was too used to simply herding away these sorts of people, chucking them out of the palace when they'd managed to sneak in on some false pretence or another. He was not accustomed to being under their legitimate scrutiny. As he expected, Clarisse began to move forward, presumably to utter something polite, but noncommittal. His hand slipped down from her shoulder to rest on the small of her back and as she moved nearer to the lenses, he stroked her tenderly.

From his angle, he couldn't really see what she was doing, but, from the sudden hush of the crowd, he assumed, correctly, that she must have raised her hand. Waiting for her words, not a little curious as to how she might play with them, he was surprised when she turned back to him, her eyes challenging his, a slight blush colouring her cheeks. He looked at her, then at the crowd, and then back to Clarisse, his eyebrow raising in curiosity.

"Darling...?"

She smiled, her hands sliding down his arms, coming to clasp his fingers, turning him a little to face her,

"Might I be so bold as to request a kiss, my love?"

Her eyes never left his, not even as he ran his hand along her jawline to cup her cheek. Only as his lips met hers did they finally flicker closed, losing herself, no, finding herself in his touch. The crowd were silent, mesmerized by the couple...only the soft click of the shutters broke the stillness. Joseph wrapped his arms around her tightly, kissing her tenderly, smiling against her lips as she met his kiss with her own. Pulling back, she was glad of his arms to support her. Once again the crowd began to cheer wildly, and he was touched to see an endearing blush spread across her cheeks. Dropping a kiss to her forehead, he wrapped an arm firmly around her back, and they turned in the direction of the car,

"I think we've given them enough of a floor show, don't you, my love?"

She smiled, pleasantly surprised at how free of guilt and embarrassment she felt after such an extravagantly public gesture, and nodded her ascent.

"Yes...Joseph, take me home."

OoOoOoOoOoO

As the car turned down the long swoop of the piazza and accelerated away, Joseph closed his eyes for a moment. Relaxing back into the expensive leather seats, warmed a little by the sun, his mind began to truly register recent events. He felt Clarisse shift across, her finger running delicately down his nose, caressing his lips. She was watching him, he could tell, waiting for him... He smiled as he felt her talking his hand in her own, lifting his arm and wrapping it around her as she came to lie against his chest.

Still not opening his eyes, not wanting to break this moment of perfection, he kissed her hair, whispering softly,

"It's all over, isn't it..."

She lifted her head again, her lips running over the smooth silk of his necktie, pressing a kiss to his throat,

"Yes, my love...I think it is."

As the anger and pain, the loss and desperation of the last few days floated away, he felt the tears slip down his cheeks. It was all too much...it was the same as it had always been, and yet everything had changed. Finally, she was here, with him...and he knew that she would stay. That he wouldn't have to lie to her, or run away from her. He felt giddy at the prospect, and cursed his own moment of weakness, wiping away his tears with his sleeve.

"Don't..." She kissed his eyelids, then his cheeks, her fingers gently brushing away the tears.

As their lips met, hers searching, his finding, Joseph moaned softly, his breath causing her to shiver,

"It's over..."

Again, they kissed, this time more insistent, time suddenly seeming so insufficient. She felt his tongue slide tantalisingly across her upper lip, and she met him warmly. He felt her shift a little closer, and he moved to sit up slightly, pulling her onto his lap. Clasping the nape of her neck tenderly, running his fingers up to stroke her hair, he caressed her mouth, teasing and yet almost painfully gently. The car turned a corner, breaking them apart slightly, but still they kissed. Her lips were warm and dangerously soft, and as she ran her fingers idly through his beard he wondered for a moment whether he would ever manage to leave her side, even for one second. As she looped both arms around his neck, pressing herself against him, he suddenly realised that he wouldn't have to.

As the car stopped, presumably at traffic lights, Clarisse reluctantly eased back from his embrace. Her face was flushed and, in spite of her sleepless night, she looked remarkably radiant. He smiled, amused as once again she moved to readjust his tie, to straighten his jacket.

"You like doing that, don't you?"

She looked up, biting her lip a little, smiling at how automatic it had seemed to do it,

"I...I suppose I do."

He grinned, touched by her self-consciousness,

"And I like you doing it...it's, well...nice"

She smiled back, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear. He frowned, his hand coming up to touch her complicated hair-do.

"But there is one thing"

Raising an eyebrow, she looked genuinely confused. Again, he caressed her cheek, his hand coming to linger at the nape of her neck.

"May I?"

Still she didn't understand, as he pulled her a little closer, but she smiled and nodded anyway.

Reaching round carefully, Joseph ran his fingers up into the base of her hair. One by one, he negotiated the pins, removing them carefully, and placing them in the top pocket of his jacket. Her eyes were closed now, enjoying the sensation of his fingers easing their way across her scalp. Eventually, he completed his task, and the hairpiece came away in his hands. Dropping it casually onto the floor of the limo, he turned his attention back to her face. Running his fingers through her hair, massaging gently, he smiled as she groaned softly.

"There"

Her eyes flicked open, and she was met by the sight a very happy looking young man. Glancing to the floor discreetly, she decided to bite her tongue...he didn't need to know just how much that particular piece of fuzz had cost.

"You didn't like my hair?"

He grinned, shaking his head, and pulling her back against him in a strong hug,

"Not your hair, my darling, but the other hair. Your hair is wonderful"

As if to prove his point, he dropped another kiss to her head and took a deep breath,

"..mmm...wonderful."

OoOoOoOoO

As they approached the palace, Clarisse began to think about the evening's events. There would be a dinner, of course, and possibly dancing...people to talk to, people to avoid. As if reading her mind, Joseph asked whether they might manage to disappear after dinner.

"I'm not sure...I suppose it will depend how the evening unfolds."

She didn't look hopeful, and he deliberately pulled her close and kissed her cheek.

"It's ok, Clarisse...I think we can wait...I mean, we've waited long enough."

She snuggled in once again, exhausted already at the prospect of the evening's events.

Joseph, on the other hand, was already scheming. Hell, if she could spring a wedding on him at practically no notice, surely he could at least manage a quick getaway from what was surely to be the invariably boring reception...


	37. Thirty Seven

As the sun began to set on the horizon, Clarisse found herself, once again, staring aimlessly out of her balcony doors and out across the palace lawns. She was sitting on her bed contemplating the view, several carefully selected gowns already laid out for her. The air was close and the sultry warmth, the faint scent of the flowers that filled the room, were all contriving to make her sleepy. Her fingers drifted once more over the fine smooth silk of the dress nearest to her, and her eyes slid shut…just for a moment.

They had arrived back at the palace well before the official parade, a good hour and a half, in fact. Joseph, ever the gentleman, had helped her from the car and escorted her up the steps. The entrance hall had been deserted but for a few of the liveried doormen, and he had surprised her by slipping an arm around her waist, caressing her tenderly through the fabric of her dress. She had known full well that he would have to excuse himself and finalise the security arrangements for the evening, and so she had been a little surprised when he had offered to walk her to her suite.

Of course, she had accepted, her head coming to rest a little against his arm as they walked slowly up the grand staircase. The private wing of the palace was quiet and Clarisse wondered if Joseph had had a hand in her usually so attentive security personnel's sudden disappearance.

At her door, he had turned to her, his hands coming to rest lightly on her upper arms, and he had whispered a kiss against her lips. Leaning forward, she had delicately wrapped her fingers around the nape of his neck and pulled him closer. He had smiled, his lips curling as he groaned his appreciation,

"Wicked woman…"

She had kissed his cheek chastely, and then his lips once more. As she had stepped back a little, he must have seen the mischievous sparkle in her eyes,

"Now….I would love to invite you in, my darling…but I'm fully booked until this evening, I'm afraid…I have a dress to choose, and guests to seat…and…"

He had smiled then, and running a hand tenderly through her hair, had kissed her forehead.

"Pick you up at about 7?"

She had raised an eyebrow, wondering for a second if…no, of course he hadn't forgotten,

"Um…Joseph, the dinner is not until 8"

"I know"

He had kissed her again, more tenderly than she could have imagined possible, and turned back down the corridor.

Closing the door behind her, she had looked at the clock on her desk, just after four. She wondered idly where the day had gone…it had all been so fast, and yet so slow at the same time. This morning was nothing more than a distant memory, the ceremony nothing more than a blur. All that she could remember, all that she could feel, was Joseph's arm around her, helping her down the aisle, helping her into the car, holding her close, walking her to her rooms….always him.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Having finished his final briefing a little sooner than anticipated, and having thrown himself in the shower and made himself presentable in record time, Joe was extremely pleased to find himself, at half-past five, on his way to Clarisse's suite. Occasionally, he caught himself still glancing up at the cameras, smiling to himself as he was reminded of the fact that it no longer mattered. Straightening his jacket – he had, in the end, opted for the classic tux deciding, with some relief, that it would of course be Clarisse who everyone should look at – he knocked lightly on the door. He knew he didn't have to, but it seemed courteous all the same. After a few minutes though, and trying again once or twice more, it soon became apparent that either she hadn't heard or, more interestingly, was choosing to ignore it.

Twisting the handle quietly, he was pleased to find that the door wasn't locked. Stepping into the main sitting room, he was intrigued to find it empty…well, apart from Maurice who looked up rather guiltily from the couch where, Joe was fairly sure, he wasn't supposed to be sitting.

Deciding not to call out and startle her, Joe wandered into the study. No Clarisse. There were definite signs of her having been there, the seating plans finished and neatly piled on the desk, with a sticky note attached asking Charlotte to pass them on to the Head Butler. Knowing there was only one more possibility, he tried the closed door of the bedroom. Wondering whether she might be taking a bath (honestly, in this warm weather he couldn't understand how she could bear it, but Clarisse was rather obsessed with her bathtub) he glanced across at the bathroom door.

A slight movement on the bed, though, caught his eye. She was asleep, curled up on the enormous bed, her arm tucked under her head, the ball gowns lying all around her. He smiled, his heart swelling at the sight. The evening light was spilling in from the open balcony doors, catching the almost ethereal silks on the bed. The room seemed to glow, the heady perfume of the gardens relaxing him beyond logical explanation. For a moment he simply stood and watched her sleep, the way her lips curled a little at the edges, the way the lines around her eyes smoothed…

He knew that she needed to sleep, after all, it would seem that the night before she had not slept at all. Brushing her hair back off her face, his breath caught a little as she sighed. Smiling, the grin still well and truly fixed from the ceremony, he began to carefully gather up the dresses and hang them up on the doors of the wardrobes. All of them were stunning, each would be made more stunning by her wearing it. His task completed, he slipped off his jacket and shoes, and slid cautiously onto the bed beside her, his arm coming to rest around her shoulders. To his relief, she didn't wake, only stirred a little, shifting across to snuggle into his chest.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Glancing at his watch and realising that it was now nearly seven, he decided that the time had come to wake her. As much as he had never been more comfortable and contented in his life, waking her any later would simply throw her into a fit of nervousness. Hysterics even. He grinned, few had seen Clarisse actually lose it, indeed, very little came close to unsettling her that much. But the choosing of clothes, and the getting ready for functions, was enough to send her over. It was best to be on the safe side, the last thing he wanted was an hysterical wife on his hands. A wife. He smiled again, looking down at her curled against him. His wife.

"Darling?"

Turning over onto her side, facing away from him, she groaned softly. As Clarisse began to stir, she was struck immediately by a sense of panic…a sinking feeling in her stomach. Disorientated, she wondered if she had been dreaming, and suddenly felt extremely sick. The details coming back to her though, she sat up with a start, and looked out of the windows. The gowns were gone, her jacket lay draped over the chair…again she looked out over the grounds. Had she dreamt everything? The light was fading, and for a moment she couldn't tell if it were morning or evening. Rubbing her eyes furiously, she lay back down onto the pillows.

"Darling?"

She jumped, clearly not having expected him, and turned towards him in an instant.

"Joseph…you…you're here"

He smiled, clearly a touch amused by her self-evident confusion.

"Well, of course, my love…do you mind?"

She shook her head in earnest, once again shifting closer, needing to feel his arms around her. As she kissed his neck, she brought her fingers up to caress his cheek, smiling as the simple gold band glinted back at her in the pale light.

Bringing his other arm around her, Joe returned her kiss, shivering a little as her hand slid down to caress his chest. She giggled endearingly, and he took her face in his palms, dropping a tender and deliberately chaste kiss to her forehead.

"Clarisse…the dinner…"

She groaned, her face dropping to his collarbone, nuzzling in. He smiled, wondering how long it would take to register. Not long…

"Jesus, Joseph, what time is it? Oh God…"

She leapt up, and looked despairingly in the mirror, and then back at the wardrobes. Shaking her head, she ran a hand nervously through her hair. Trying to stifle a snigger, Joe got up and moved towards the closets.

"Darling?"

She spun round, almost tripping on his discarded shoes as she did so. In one of his hands was the pale cream gown, her favourite, in fact, and in the other a pair of matching shoes. She nodded, relieved instantly, amused a little at her own overreaction.

"Now, sweetheart, all you have to do is put on your lipstick and brush your hair. Will an hour be enough?"

She giggled, turning back in the direction of the bathroom,

"What would I do without you, Joseph?"

He smirked, placing the gown down carefully on the bed,

"Be late, my love"

Her head popped back round the door, the mock indignation clear,

"But Joseph…a queen…"

He cut her off, trying desperately not to laugh out loud,

"No my love, I'm afraid you're wrong. Everybody else is simply left waiting…"

A/N There will be one more chapter now…the dinner, the escaping from the dinner, and a (very) brief snapshot of the following morning!


	38. Thirty Eight

As the serving staff began to collect the now empty crockery from the meat course, Clarisse felt Joseph's hand slip under the table and come to rest lightly just above her knee. Smiling mischievously, she turned towards him, meeting his eyes,

"Did you enjoy the duck, my dear?"

Nodding carefully, he smiled back, squeezing her knee a little as he did so.

Turning back to look out over the room, Clarisse was pleased to see that people had begun to stop staring so much. Thankfully, their entrance had been discreet, with Joseph having made good use of his experience in crowd control. They had arrived a few moments after eight, just as the guests were being seated for dinner. As the second gong had sounded, announcing her presence, most people had been too concerned with finding their own seat to notice the new arrivals. Of course, as soon as everyone was seated, the stares began, but it was better than she had anticipated.

As much as the reception outside the church had been warm, Clarisse held no illusions as to the general opinion amongst her esteemed guests of their monarch marrying her Head of Security. Indeed, it was precisely that knowledge that had persuaded her so long not to. Feeling Joseph's hand tense a little in hers, understanding immediately his discomfort at the unaccustomed attention, she swiftly brought it to her lips and kissed the back of his hand. Instantly, he relaxed, and she felt the tension across her shoulders ease a little. Setting his hand down on the table, and quickly covering it with her own, she took the opportunity to look again around the room.

The planning had worked well, and it was with some satisfaction that she surveyed the fourteen round tables, each seating five guests, that now filled the ballroom. Having seated everyone herself, she had made sure that they would not be bothered this evening by any obvious dissenters. Mabrey had rather invalidated his invitation by his earlier performance, and, his fellow radical parliamentarians had all been seated appropriately in the very corner of the room, all huddled around the same table. No, tonight at least, they could be sure of no upsets.

Mia was seated next to Lily and Charlotte, on the next table, along with the Spanish Prime Minister and Pierre. Poor Pierre, not only had he had the pleasant, albeit somewhat traumatic experience of meeting Mia for the first time, when she rather unsurprisingly fell up the stairs to the church and into his back, but also had had to deal with his ancient mother getting hitched. Still, wine glass in hand, and Charlotte next to him, he seemed to be coping alright.

On her table, no, _their_ table, was Sebastian and Lord and Lady Palimore. As she had expected, Sebastian was doing a grand job of entertaining the somewhat trying older gentleman – though, to be fair, after his actions today, Lord Palimore was a most welcome guest at the Queen's table.

Still she felt a little tense though, as much as Joseph's hand caressing her gently, soothingly, was a comfort. Not having planned for this kind of celebration, she had no idea what would happen when it came to the speeches. She wondered if Joseph had even thought that far…

OoOoOoOoO

After finishing the last bite of his duck, Joseph felt that strange sense of the surreal that had been clouding his senses all day, sink back down over him. Back under the scrutiny of all these eyes, he was thankful that he had planned out how this evening would end in advance. As much as he loved parties, loved to dance with Clarisse, dancing in front of a room of, of…well, of these people...filled him with a horror that he couldn't even begin to describe. Looking up from his plate, he met several pairs of eyes, and almost unconsciously slipped his hand under the table to touch her. As she smiled, her lips curling mischievously, he felt calmer, remembering why he was here, why this was worth it.

"Did you enjoy the duck, my dear?"

He smiled, nodding his approval. God, how could she be so cool about this? He gripped her a little tighter, and felt her shift a little closer on her seat until her leg was resting against his own. For a moment, she seemed lost in her thoughts, but then he felt her hand slip under the table too, coming to rest squarely atop his own. As their fingers laced together, he was overwhelmed at how the room and all the people in it seemed to fade at her touch. Incredible. Twisting his hand up to her lips, she kissed him delicately, and he shivered a little. Glancing at his watch he couldn't help but smile to himself. Nine-thirty. Just dessert…and then it would be time to blow this joint.

OoOoOoOoO

To Clarisse's surprise, the moment the dessert plates had been cleared, Mia began to sound her glass, and stood up to speak. Somehow, Joseph's hand had found its way to the small of her back and was tracing tiny circles there. As Mia stood, he bent a little towards her ear, his breath tickling her slightly,

"Darling…would you mind very much if we leave after this?"

Just as she was about to reply, Mia begin to speak, cutting her off before she had a chance to express her reluctant disapproval.

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen…Grandma Clarisse and Joe…it is with great honour that I take this opportunity to congratulate you on your wedding, and wish you all the best for the future. I raise a toast, to Queen Clarisse and, um…" glancing at Joe she bit her lip and pondered the issue,

"If she dares call me Joey…."

Elbowing him gently in the ribs, Clarisse smirked discreetly, still a little nonplussed as to where Mia was taking this,

"…and soon-to-be-Sir Joseph, the Queen's consort. Ladies and gentlemen, the Bride and Groom."

As everyone stood, Joe could hardly contain his disbelief,

"She's going to knight me?"

Clarisse smiled proudly, nodding her approval at Mia's suggestion.

"Hmm…though I'm afraid technically she isn't really qualified…would I do? I mean, I'm sure I could fit it into my busy schedule at some point…"

Flashing her a cheeky grin, he seemed to breath a sigh of relief,

"Well, at least my neck will be safer with you…"

Turning back quickly, she raised an eyebrow, tracing a finger delicately along the skin just above his collar.

"Hmmm…"

OoOoOoOoO

Mia coughed lightly, and continued,

"Moreover, I'm extremely pleased to invite you all to stay after dinner this evening to enjoy the firework show that we have prepared. In something of a break with tradition, tonight we won't be dancing, but rather, we will all go out onto the main terrace and enjoy the remainder of the evening there. So if you will finish your liquors, the fireworks start in about forty minutes outside…"

As Mia sat back down, Clarisse turned to Joseph with a suspicious eye,

"Fireworks?"

He grinned, biting his lip a little,

"Indeed."

"Outside in the dark?"

"I believe that is the conventional setting…"

For a moment she glanced at Mia, who was grinning at Joseph rather too contentedly for her liking, and then turned back to her husband,

"Am I to take it that this has something to do with you?"

"Perhaps. Are you cross?"

She shook her head slowly, still holding his gaze, looking a little puzzled. Dropping her voice a little, she leant in towards him,

"But darling, you know I can't stand fireworks…"

He grinned, winking discreetly,

"I know…and that's how I was so certain that they would be something you wouldn't mind missing."

Her eyes widened as she realised the implications of his comment,

"But Joseph…we can't, really we can't…"

Her voice trailed off as he tapped her endearingly on the nose with his fingertip.

"Oh yes we can, my love….and we will. It's all been arranged."

"Mia?"

He grinned, finally taking her hand in his, his fingers instinctively coming to play with her wedding ring,

"Who else…"

OoOoOoOoO

Ten minutes later, they were back in her suite, the door firmly locked and clothes strewn all over the floor and bed. Well, Joseph's clothes to be precise, Clarisse was hardly one to throw a five-figure dress on the carpet. Joseph was in the bathroom, and Clarisse was wrestling with her chest of drawers. Wondering what all the commotion was, he stepped out to help her, only to be met by a low whistle,

"Goodness, now look at you…turn round…"

He did, and was met with another smile of approval.

"Nice jeans"

He took a deep bow, the perma-grin back in place,

"Why thank you, your Majesty…never knew you could whistle like that…"

With a smirk, she turned back to the drawer and tried again,

"Can I help, darling?"

Eventually the drawer opened, and she selected the sweater that she had been searching for and slipped it on.

Smiling at her now mussed up hair, Joseph pulled his own jumper over his head, and picked up his cell phone from the bedside table. Raising an eyebrow, she looked at him suspiciously,

"No, nothing like that….no more surprises…it's just that, well, having had you disappear on me more times than I care to remember, I have a certain sympathy with Shades tonight. I've told him we're going out…believe me, he'll be discreet."

She grinned, looping her arms around his neck, amused as he tried to put his jacket on at the same time,

"Was I so very bad, Joseph?"

He shook his head, kissing her tenderly on the nose,

"You have no idea, my love, no idea…"

OoOoOoOoO

Making sure they left through the back staircases, so as to avoid any stray guests, Joseph and Clarisse wandered out into the orange grove at the back of the palace. Taking her hand in his, Joe led her down the now pitch-black pathways into the rose gardens. Although the air was still humid, the temperature had dropped steeply from the afternoon. Even with the thick jumper and his jacket, he felt a little chilly. Pulling her closer, he wrapped an arm around Clarisse's shoulders.

"Happy?"

She smiled, snuggling in a little against his chest,

"Do I need to dignify that with an answer?"

He chuckled and kissed her tenderly on the side of her head.

OoOoOoOoO

As they sat on the bench, Joseph upright, cradling her head in his lap, they hardly noticed the fireworks going off in the distance. Tracing a hand through her hair, massaging her scalp, he smiled as she closed her eyes in relaxation,

"Rather a long day, my darling…"

She smiled, still not opening her eyes, focusing instead on the rich tone of his voice,

""Joseph, what do you think the Archbishop meant when he said 'finally' today…do you think he knew?"

He smiled sadly, tracing his thumb over her lower lip, remembering the way he had broken down in front of his confessor just after his mother's death,

"Yes, Clarisse, he knew…I'm sorry."

As her eyes slowly opened, she was surprised to see him staring off into the distance. Sitting up carefully, easing herself onto his lap, her hands coming to cradle his face, she kissed him tenderly on the lips.

He started a little, lost as he was for a moment in that terrible night when he had practically collapsed on the older man in grief and exhaustion, but her lips on his brought him back to himself. As she pulled slightly back, gazing deep into his eyes, she smiled,

"You don't have to apologise to me, Joseph…"

"But…"

She smiled again, moving in closer.

As their lips met, as they had so many times before, Clarisse wrapped her arms tightly around him. So many times she had not held him tightly enough, had not done enough to keep him. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

OoOoOoOoO

By the time they reached the lake, the moonlight was reflecting brightly on the still water. The sculptures lining its banks glistened in the ethereal light and for a moment Clarisse wondered if she had somehow fallen out of time.

"It's so beautiful, isn't it…"

He nodded, moving to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the crook of her shoulder,

"I know…it's my favourite place in the whole palace."

She giggled, turning round a little, kissing his chin as she did so,

"Your _favourite_ place?"

Raising an eyebrow, she attempted a look of disappointment.

Kissing her back, he pulled her back against his chest,

"God, you're so picky…fair enough, it's my _second_ favourite place…better?"

She grinned, snuggling into his warmth,

"Good boy"

OoOoOoOoO

By the time they made it back to the palace, it was well after three and there was no sign of any of the staff or the guests. Looping an arm casually around her shoulders, Joseph escorted Clarisse in through the kitchens and up to the main stairwell. Yawning loudly, she leant back against him,

"Oh….I'm sorry….I think today's beginning to catch up on me."

He smiled, gently rubbing her shoulders,

"That's okay, darling…and anyway, technically it is already tomorrow"

She groaned softly, hunching her shoulders to try and ease some of the tension,

"Heavens…we really should be going to bed, you know."

He grinned, this time entirely in control of his brain and tongue,

"I thought you'd never ask…"

OoOoOoOoO

As she stepped out of the bathroom, Clarisse couldn't help but smile at the sight that met her. Apart from her bedside lamp, the bedroom was in near darkness, the curtains slightly parted to allow a shaft of moonlight to spill over the foot of the bed. Curled up under the covers was her darling husband, book in hand, glasses still perched on his nose. Slipping off her robe and draping it over a chair, she slid in beside him, careful not to wake him. Easing the book from his hand and carefully removing his glasses, she set them both down on the floor. Turning back to him, she was amused to find his eyes now open, and very much gazing back at her,

"Have I ever told you how extraordinarily beautiful you are, my darling?"

She giggled, snuggling down under the covers, his arms coming to rest around her, her hand coming to lie against his chest, stroking him gently,

"Yes, darling, many times…"

He yawned, and kissed the bridge of her nose,

"Hmm…not enough."

Pressing her lips gently against his neck, she was amused to elicit a deep growl. Pulling her even closer, his leg wrapping around hers possessively, he began to stroke her back.

She sighed, closing her eyes in pleasure and pure unadulterated relaxation. His breathing soothed her, it always had, and soon she felt her body begin to grow heavy.

"Joseph?"

He felt her hand snake up to stroke his cheek, smiling as he noticed her eyes were shut, her voice heavy with sleep. Kissing her palm, he settled them both against the pillow,

'Tomorrow, darling…we have all the time in the world. Sleep well, my princess"

She yawned again, smiling as his fingers tenderly massaged the base of her head,

"Good night, my darling…"

OoOoOoOoO

The sun was spilling into the room by the time Clarisse stirred the next morning. Shifting slightly, she was immediately aware of being still in Joseph's arms. Smiling to herself, she remembered the events of the previous day and leant over to kiss his cheek. He groaned softly, and she bit back a giggle. Kissing his jaw line, working her way round to his ear, she tried desperately to keep a straight face. He was beginning to stir, and she brought her fingers up to stroke his beard, amused as his lips twitched a little at the tickling. Suddenly, though, she was swept up and thrown on the other side of the bed with a shriek. As she opened her eyes, she found herself pinned to the pillows, with a rather irate looking Joseph straddling her.

The urge to giggle somewhat stifled by the shock, she wriggled a little to free herself, only to no avail.

"Damn woman, always trying to stop me from sleeping…"

His voice was nothing more than a growl, and, as he lowered himself to gently kiss her forehead, Clarisse couldn't help but shiver with desire,

"…you never seem to learn…tormenting me is not a wise plan…"

She smiled, meeting his lips with her own, still unable to move her arms, frustrated as he once again evaded the kiss she so wanted,

"So…do you promise not to do it again?"

He looked at her, the mischievous twinkle so obvious in his fearsome glare. She shook her head carefully, biting her lip a little as she did so.

Letting out a loud chuckle, he finally brought his lips down onto hers, his hands coming to caress her face, her arms wrapping firmly around his back,

"Good…"

OoOoOoOoO

As his breathing slowed, he pulled her gently to lie on his chest, his lips dropping a tender kiss to her hair. Running a hand tenderly down the smooth skin of her back he smiled the smile of a truly contented man. Shifting up his body a little, Clarisse pulled herself up to look at him, wanting to say something, not entirely sure where to begin,

"Thank you…"

He looked puzzled, knowing her expression well enough to know that she wasn't referring to their recent activities.

"Thank you?"

She nodded, her head coming back to rest on the pillow next to him.

"Yes, thank you for everything…"

Understanding, he reached for her hand and brought it to her lips.

"You're welcome"

For a moment she was silent, thinking back to all the times they had shared together, remembering all the times that they could not, and then consciously rousing herself from what was best left alone,

"But at least we got there in the end, my darling Joey…"

He chuckled, knowing full well where she'd got that one from, and squeezed her playfully. Pulling her into his arms once more, he ran his fingers tenderly down her cheek, his mind already spinning with the possibilities,

"Oh this isn't the end Clarisse….this is only the beginning."

THE END. (OR IS IT?)

A/n I just want to say a huge thank you to all of those lovely reviewers out there who have been so encouraging about my writing. This was the first fanfic that I ever wrote, and so I'm kind of sad to bring it to a close, but hey, I've plenty of other ideas to keep me occupied! Hope you like the 'ending' – please review, just for old times sake ;o)

PS. I will be re-editing this story (putting past events in italics, and the like) so it should be more readable soon.


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